


A Singular Day

by InterNutter



Category: X-Men Evolution
Genre: Backstory, F/M, wild fan guessing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-13 18:06:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 35,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InterNutter/pseuds/InterNutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt's life at key milestones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Happy Birthday

Disclaimer: They own such pretty toys! I can't resist playing :)

Archiving: email cat@devil.com and ask nice

Code-o-rama:  
*bla* - emphasis  
_bla_ - italics or thought  
{bla} - sound effect  
[bla] - foreign language

A Singular Day  
InterNutter

::Chapter:_:One: Happy Birthday

It had been the longest nine months of Raven's life. She'd been morning-sick all day, every single day of her pregnancy. Violently morning-sick. Except between ten AM and two PM, when she feasted and the little creature inside merrily pummelled the living hell out of all the soft organs it could reach. Not that it ever seemed to *stop* doing so; it's just that the baby was simply more active whenever she ate.  
Eric was over the moon, a doting husband for her every need, and an adoring one at that. He didn't care that she had, in her humble opinion, reached the approximate dimensions of an elephant or a whale.  
The midwives were exstatic, claiming that the child was an exuberantly healthy boy.  
Raven could care less. So far, she'd endured nine months of absolute torture. She wanted the little bugger out of her body as soon as humanly possible. Preferably by painless surgery. Under a general anasthetic.  
But *no*... *this* was a little backwoods area in the middle of nowhere. Surgery was considered a last resort. It mattered not that she was the wife of the Count, lord of the realm - more pine-covered mountainsides than Raven could ever care to spit at - and ruler of some rather bizarre subjects.  
Things like that 'just happened' in the Schwartzwald. Eric was technically Lord of several communities, villages and species that, right now, no-one knew existed. And the ones that *were* out in the open were so superstitious that they made New-Agers look mundane.  
So far, she'd been in 'pre-labour' for well over a fortnight. Couldn't the son and heir VonReissig get his anatomy into gear and get *on* with it?  
The midwives joked that he liked it in the warm.  
Raven wanted to kill them.  
Eric humoured her and told her that if she did behead them, he'd have to find new midwives and *she*, in turn, would be forced to answer a whole mountain's worth of damn fool questions all over again. He was such an adorable man. Pity he had no clue that Raven was serious.  
The only thing stopping her was the threat of the general inquisition that followed the arrival of a new midwife. And right now, with her body aching from head to foot, a new midwife would not help her mood.  
When the real labour came, at long last, she could have wept for joy. If she weren't too busy screaming. It hurt so much, she could barely keep her human guise.  
It would simply not do for the Countess to turn into a red-haired, blue creature that was her true shape.  
They'd probably burn her as a witch.  
The midwives, delightfully old-fashioned, shooed Eric from the delivery room and gave her even older remedies that actually seemed to work. Sort of.  
At least she could make the delivery quick, subtly spreading her hips so that the child didn't have too much trouble passing through.  
But, *God*, it hurt.  
She barely had time to breathe through the spasms. She barely had time to cry.  
"There's the crown," sang the chief midwife in dialect German.  
"Oooh, he has dark hair like his Mama," cooed a second.  
If only they knew...  
"Ready? Push, push, push, push, push...."  
"Breathe. Breathe."  
Raven was too busy screaming, but she pushed nevertheless.  
"Here he comes."  
"Oh! He's blue!"  
"Check for the cord!"  
_Oh God..._ Raven panted between contractions. _Please don't let him have my complexion. He's just a baby..._  
She must have been weeping, because another assistant patted her shoulder and said, "Don't worry, dear, They know what to do."  
"There's no cord there," insisted the chief midwife. Raven could feel her probing for it. "Ach! Here comes another contraction. We'll know, soon."  
"Push, push, push, push, push, push..."  
Raven screamed again. Another voice joined her; the distinctive sound of a brand-new pair of lungs using their first breath.  
"*OH*!"  
"God save us!"  
A third one crossed herself.  
"Let me see him?" Raven begged. "Let me hold my son?"  
"Madam," said one. "Are you sure that you slept with your husband to conceive this child?"  
Her baby was crying.  
"God's truth," said Raven. "I only slept with my beloved husband." Best not to upset them. "Please. He's crying. He needs me."  
The midwives conferred whilst their junior oversaw the passage of the afterbirth. At last, after way too long, the presented her with a little bundle and coached her not to be afraid. They'd baptise him, and find out soon if he was the work of God or the Devil.  
Her son was covered in a fine coat of blue fur. His hair was a deeper colour, and stuck close to his head. He mewled a little, and opened his eyes, staring at her in the cross-eyed confusion of newborns the world over. Grey-blue eyes. Just like his mother, only a little darker.  
"Hello, my son," she whispered. Raven risked touching him with a fingertip. _So *soft*..._ He was like touching a cloud. But then, all babies were that soft and smooth.  
A tiny little fist escaped his swaddling. He only had two fingers and a thumb. This was not something *she'd* bought into the equation...  
Curious, Raven unwrapped him. Both hands were tridactyl. His feet, first to kick free of the cloth, looked strangely long, and had the third toe attached to the ankle joint.  
Then a tail swept free of the swaddling, and Raven knew why these simple peasants had crossed themselves.  
Her son even had pointed ears to complete the image.  
Her son looked like a demon.  
Raven re-wrapped him quickly. She'd used her shapeshifting powers to hang on to this pregnancy, despite the trouble it gave her. Did that somehow alter him? Or was there -ha!- another 'X' in the equation?  
The baby sneezed once, then started smacking his lips. He was hungry.  
How - normal.  
Eric somehow got past the midwife guard just as she succeeded in getting her baby to latch on. She pretended to stroke his little head, but she was shielding him from prying eyes.  
"Well?" asked Eric. "Was he worth the trouble?"  
Raven looked at her son. "Yes. He was."  
That night, she took him with her and ran, abandoning love and the life she'd dreamed about as a girl. She wouldn't abandon her son. No. She'd keep him safe. She knew a friend, living nearby, who may be able to help them both. Another Erik.  
Erik Magnus Lensher.


	2. The Castle

::Chapter:_:Two: The Castle

He was hungry all the time. Even with the aid of powdered formula, rare in these backwoods mountains, he was hungry. Raven had changed her face and form first thing, pretending to be a wandering madwoman, convinced that other powers were out to kill her baby.  
The ruse worked, and sympathetic peasants would do just about anything to humour her, including blindfolding wetnurses to help feed her son.  
Her special son.  
The only one of her many children to be born with her colouring.  
When she found Erik, he simply procured formula for her. And day by day, her tiny boy lost interest in her. She'd lost her milk from stress. From a month and a half of fear and trepidation. The first time he latched on, pulled once, and cried for food made her weep for an entire day.  
Raven never was a good mother, preferring to abandon her children with other families. Now that message was driven home. She couldn't even feed  
the one she intended to keep and guard.  
Erik was a help, but not as much as *her* Eric. The one she loved. Did he think she was dead by now? Or had they assumed that she'd run off into the night to give herself and her son 'back' to the Devil?  
Erik - or Magneto as he preferred to style himself - was absolutely *fascinated* by her baby. He'd spend hours just watching him sleep. He'd spend even more hours theorising about his possible origins.  
He even tried to explain it to the weary and sleep-deprived Raven. He drew a chart on the blackboard while she paced back and forth with her still-unnamed son.

Mutie-Mutie Mutie-Norm Norm-Norm

PW Mutie [3-way X] pW Mutie [2-way X] Norm  
pW Mutie [2-way X] Mutie [Inherited X] Mutie  
Mutie [Inherited X] Mutie [Original X]  
Mutie [Original X] Norm  
Norm

The most likely events were at the top of the chart, and the least likely at the bottom. Apparently, Raven had got it backwards, having normal children, then an original mutant, then her *special* baby. The implication that *her* Eric was also a mutant shocked her.  
"But he had no powers, he lived normally," she said.  
"Then he was a latent mutant," said Erik. "Of no use or concern to the Cause."  
Raven sighed. Erik and his stupid Cause. It was all he talked about. On her shoulder, her son reacted to the news of his 'advanced' status by burping and instantly falling to sleep. Personally, Raven was relieved that he didn't decide he wanted to fill up again, and put him to bed.  
She didn't return to Magneto, just crumpled into the camp-bed next to her son's cot and fell into a deep and dreamless slumber. It was an act she'd regret for the rest of her life.

He woke the instant someone else came in the room, murmuring a little to voice his surprise. The old man stood over him, smiling. He cooed at  
him.  
"Now, shhh..." said the man. "Your mother's just gone to sleep. Shh, now. We're going for a little walk."  
Two giant hands picked him up, and he wriggled in midair before the man settled him into a carrying-hug. He tried the man's shoulder for food value on general principles and kept trying to grab his hair. He got the man's ear several times, so that was just as good.  
The man unwrapped him and undid everything, and left him naked on a cold table. He didn't like that, and mewled with discomfort.  
"Not long now," said the man. "There's a good boy."  
The table moved, and there were bright lights and shiny things all around. He cooed again and tried to reach for them. They were a long way away, but his tail and feet were always close, so he tried to stuff all three in his mouth at once. The large green shining thing above fascinated him, though. He kept waiting for it to move, like the mobile above his changing table.  
"Initiating stage one enhancement," said the man.  
And then green light came from the shining thing, and his whole body hurt.  
He cried at the top of his lungs. Where was Mom? He needed Mom. Where was *Mom*?  
"Monster! What have you *done* to him?"  
And Mom was there and she wrapped him up and held him close, but it still hurt and he still cried. Mom was scared and angry. The man was angry too.  
He was scared and hurt, so he cried as Mom started to run. It was cold outside, so he cried about that, too. Strange noises filled the air as Mom tried to run and hide.  
There was one moment when she hid in the shadow of a tree, and looked at him. He looked back, and wondered why she was sad.  
"You don't have your mother's eyes any more," she whispered.  
The strange noises got closer, and Mom started running again, towards a loud noise.

Had to get across the bridge. On the other side of the waterfall, there was a tiny little village. If she and her son were *both* blue, maybe they could pass for one of the many hidden species that seemed to dwell in these lands. She could just keep going until she found a sympathetic place to stay. Somewhere that would guard her and her son from the maniac known as Magneto.  
The wolves were everywhere. They'd bought her to bay on the bridge. Nowhere to run, and Erik was getting closer. The animals wanted her son. She held him high, away from them.  
One errant breeze. One little upset. One fumble for balance. And her baby fell.  
"*NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO*!" Involuntarily, Raven made to leap after him, but the wolves held fast to her clothes, and held her onto the bridge. All she could do was watch her baby fall into the water, far below.  
"Why?" she asked as the wolves came to his heel. "*Why*?"  
Magneto didn't answer. "Follow him," he ordered. "If he lives, bring him back to me. If you try to escape with him, I *will* find you; and you *will* regret it." He turned and flew away, leaving her to weep, alone, in the middle of that rickety bridge.


	3. Happy A-Day

::Chapter:_:Three: Happy A-Day

Tired *and* hungry was not good. Neither was cold, and he was all three at once. He voiced his displeasure as much as he could, and had to wonder why Mom was taking so long to come.  
Where *was* Mom?  
Well, he was moving, that was something. Sometimes, when Mom moved him, she didn't have time to feed him. Maybe that was it. Mom was taking him somewhere, and he just couldn't see her.  
He was still hungry. And tired. And cold. And unhappy about all three.

Johannes Wagner wasn't thinking of anything very much when he heard a baby cry. He was just focussing on catching a fish for his beloved Astrid. In fact, he even thought that someone was bringing her work, at first.  
Poor Astrid. They'd tried and failed for fifteen years to conceive; and all God had given her was the ability to nurse babies that weren't hers. She still prayed for a miracle, every day, to God, Jesus, Mary, and the saints. She'd even begun to wear the pattern off her rosary beads.  
It was the least he could do to fetch her a fish. If only the little slippery heathen would co-operate and take the verdammt bait.  
_Wait..._ The crying was coming from that piece of flotsam, drifting his way.  
The flotsam wriggled.  
Johannes leaped forwards, tossing his rod aside and wading deeper into the stream and catching up the child from the water. Later, he'd notice that his right boot had filled with water in the process. Right now, he didn't care.  
Perhaps God, Jesus, Mary and the saints had at last decided to answer their pleas and entreaties.  
The baby was wrapped in oilcloth the colour of night, and it reached out to him the minute it saw him. A little hand with only two fingers and a thumb. Covered in blue fur.  
"Astrid, come here!" He cried, jubilant. "Come and see what God's given us!"  
Astrid was there, forgetting the mushrooms she'd been gathering. "Johannes! Is it--?"  
"A baby no-one will take from us, beloved," he said. "Look."  
Her mouth fell open. "Oh..." and the baby went so neatly into her arms.  
Johannnes hauled himself from the water. His rod and reel had long since gone downstream. If he was lucky, the Guismanns would find it; and if not, he was lucky enough to have a child. Plenty lucky.  
Astrid had gotten it latched on, and it was feeding like it was half-starved. "Ach! Look at him go," she said. "He's lucky I just got off from the Jarelmann twins."  
"He's a he? We have a son?"  
Indeed, Astrid had twitched aside the oilcloth to reveal the baby's gender, and a few other little surprises. "Yes, we have a son," she said. "A beautiful, blue, little angel."

Watching from her hiding place, Raven chased the tears from her eyes and turned away for the last time. Her son would be loved, she could tell that. They'd seen all he was without turning a hair, and accepted him as he was.  
She should have gone to ground in a village like this one *first*, and not bothered with Magneto. It would have certainly been safer. Maybe she could have even got help from someone like those two.  
Raven wished Johannes and Astrid well. She wished them every happiness. She wished she could have it to, but she had to return to Magneto and give her son his last gift from her.  
"Well?" said Magneto on her return.  
Mystique's face was impassive. Uncaring. "He drowned. He's dead."  
And in a little mountain village in the middle of nowhere, her son would have a good life, with parents who could give him a relatively normal childhood. Raven could be glad of that, at least.

Of course, in a little village like Heirelgart, nothing could happen without everyone else knowing about it. Gossip spread a little quicker than normal, there, mainly because of the Centaurs living amongst them. They could spread gossip as quick as it took to gallop from one house - or camped wagon - to another.  
The Guismann family had come up with Johannes' fishing rod - and the fish he'd 'caught'. Young Andrei had gone straight into the playpen the instant that Elfriede, his mother, saw the baby. Werner Guismann vanished shortly after handing both fish and fishing tackle over, though Johannes could hear his huge feet galloping down the road for quite some time.  
Johannes cleaned his fish while the ladies talked.  
"He knows how to eat, doesn't he?"  
"*Yes*," said Astrid. "He hasn't let go since I put him on."  
"Do you know if he has people?"  
"No," Astrid gently petted their son's bare back, watching his tail thrash and whip about. "Johannes found him floating in the river. He had nothing on but a piece of oilcloth for swaddling."  
Elfriede put her hand over her mouth. "What sort of cruel monster could do *that*?" she demanded. "He's *beautiful*."  
"I know," Astrid blushed with pride.  
"Love?" Johannes asked. "Are we going to tell him about this?"  
Astrid spent a moment staring at nothing. "No. His mother left him on our back doorstep. That's what we're going to tell the rest, too."  
"Indeed," said Elfriede. "Nobody should grow up thinking their mother and father tried to kill them."  
"Come on, love," Astrid cooed, attempting to detatch the baby. "Let go. There's more on the other side for you."  
{pop!} "Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!"  
Astrid swapped him around, and with a soft, {glomph} he resumed feeding. "He *knows* how to eat."  
Elfriede bought a cloth diaper out of her bag. "We'll have to fiddle a little," she said, "But this is how you fold a diaper for a baby with a tail," and proceeded to show them.  
"We haven't even got a name for him," Johannes realised.  
"Yes we do," said Astrid. "Kurt, after my Papa."  
Johannes put the fish on to cook, tidied the remains away and washed his hands before he even thought of coming close to his son. "You know," he said, "he actually *looks* like a Kurt."  
Kurti's namesake turned up, and aired out the long-prepared baby's room while his brand-new Oma bustled about with washing things, cooing at little Andrei, and chirping about what a wonderful new grandson they had.  
Kurti celebrated his introduction to his new family by falling asleep in his Mama's arms. He didn't even wake up when they carefully dressed him and put him to bed.  
"Poor little boy," Astrid murmured. "It must have been quite a night for him."  
"I'd say he's a couple of months old," said Sibylle Meirs, new Oma. "I saw him reaching for things. When he wasn't busy with other concerns."  
Johannes had to giggle. "Look, his little tail's still wagging."  
"Oh, I've seen that, before," said Astrid. "Those with tails always wag them when they're that young." She reached down and brushed it, and gasped when it wrapped itself around her finger. "Oh..."  
"You'd best watch him," predicted Sibylle. "He'll have you wrapped around *his* finger if you aren't aware."  
Outside, Kurt Meirs was telling all the newcomers to keep their voices down, there were sleeping babies inside the house. Johannes crept outside to see.  
Half the village had turned up, bearing gifts. He could even see Margali and her twins, Stefan and Jimaine, in the crowd.  
"Well?" the closest to the door asked. "What's this new baby of yours like?"  
Johannes smiled. "He's beautiful."


	4. Grooming

::Chapter:_:Four: Grooming

"...aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhaaaaaaaaaaaaahhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa..."  
"Your turn," Astrid handed Kurti over to Johannes.  
He took up the baby boy and took over pacing the floor with him.  
Kurti was clean. They checked his diaper every few seconds, so he was dry as well. He didn't have gas. He wasn't sick. He was too young to have any teeth coming out, and he didn't want to try and chew anything, anyway.  
He was tired, that much was plain, but he didn't want to settle.  
He just cried, and cried, and *cried*.  
"...aaaaaAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaahhhh... (gasp gasp) Waaaaaaaahhhhhh..."  
Papa had wandered in, his brushes held absently in either hand as if he'd heard the crying and forgotten what he was doing. "What's wrong with the boy?" he asked.  
"We don't know," said Johannes. "We've tried *everything*. He doesn't want a bath. He isn't hungry,"  
"For a change," said Astrid from the couch. Apart from her brief speech, she was apparently comatose.  
Johannes continued, pacing and bouncing with Kurti. "He's *been* burped. He doesn't have a temperature. He's clean and dry. He cries when I sing to him. He cries when I read to him..."  
"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh..."  
"He just *cries*..."  
"Ach... Poor lad. You two go have a rest. I'll nurse him for a while."  
Johannes handed the crying boy over. "*Thank* you. He's been going since the small hours this morning. We're exhausted."  
Together, he and Astrid stumbled towards their bedchamber. Nice bed. Nice, *soft* bed.  
"...aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhaaaaaaa..."  
And a crying baby in the background.  
"Poor little boy," sighed Johannes.  
"Mmmm," said Astrid. Half-unconscious.  
"*WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH*HAAAAAAAAAAAaaaahhhaaaaaaaaaaaa..."  
Astrid started sniffling. She didn't know what to *do*. She was supposed to be his Mama and she didn't know what he wanted.  
"...aaaaaaahhhhaaaaa... (hic) ...aaaa..."  
Poor Papa. He must be at his wit's end trying to calm the poor boy.  
"Astrid?"  
"Mmmm?"  
"He's stopped crying."  
She snapped awake. Next to crying, silence - especially *sudden* silence - was the most frightening noise to hear. What if something was *really* wrong?  
She leaped up and ran for the lounge.  
"Shhh..." said Papa. He was brushing Kurti with the soft hair brush. "I just got him quiet."  
"With a *hairbrush*?" asked Johannes, behind her.  
Papa just shrugged. "I guess he doesn't like tangles in his fur."  
Astrid turned to her husband. "He just wanted to be brushed," she said, and then found herself bawling into his shoulder.  
Johannes patted her shoulder. "I think we should get some rest."  
"I think you should," agreed Papa.  
"...waaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhaaaaaaaaaaaahhaaaaaaaaa..."  
Kurti gave her a look that said, "What are *you* upset about? Everything's *fine*..."  
Johannes gently guided her to bed and held her until she fell asleep. It was amazing the things she had to learn about her little blue baby.


	5. Climbing

::Chapter:_:Five: Climbing

"He got out of his playpen *again*," complained Astrid. "I really can't see how he does it. When I watch him he stays there. The second I go - he's out and after me."  
Kurti giggled and cooed. He squealed in delight as she put him back.  
"In you stay, my lad," she ordered. "I *have* to get dinner cooked."  
"...brbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbr..." said Kurti. He pulled himself upright and sidled along to the corner of his playpen. "...brbrbrbrbrbrbr*brbrbrbrbrbrbr*brbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbr..."  
Astrid sighed. "Try to watch him without watching him, eh?" she asked. "He knows when you're paying attention and just stays put. He only gets out when we're not looking."  
Kurti proceeded to beat the living tar out of one of his rattles.  
Johannes apparently went back to his paper. "I'm keeping one eye open, love."  
"*Good*..."  
Kurti blew raspberries to accompany himself on the rattle.  
Astrid chopped carrots.  
Kurti rattled his rattle.  
"Good *God*..." muttered Johannes.  
Astrid looked up.  
Kurti was crawling across the floor, rattle held in his tail, and heading straight towards her. He was squeaking in glee as he went.  
"How did he *do* it?" she demanded.  
"You're not going to *believe* this," said Johannes. "He just climbed up the side of the playpen and climbed *down* the outside again. Kid's got a grip and a half..."  
"...brbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbr..." said Kurti.  
So they attached a retractable fence-thing to the top of his playpen in order to keep him in.  
Astrid went back to dinner preparations. Kurti went back to terrorizing his rattles. She'd just put the stew on when Johannes started laughing.  
"What?"  
"Kurti," he said. "You should see him."  
Astrid wiped her hands and had a look.  
Kurti was dangling upside-down from the overhead bars by his feet and tail, gripping not only by his front toes, but by the back ones as well. He looked up at them and laughed before loosing his grip and plopping down onto the soft surface below.  
"SQUEEEE*EEEEEEEEEEE*EEEEAAALL!" Kurti climbed right back up the side of the playpen and started again.  
Astrid sighed. "We're going to have our hands very, *very* full."  
"Mmm-hmm," said Johannes.


	6. First Steps

::Chapter:_:Six: First Steps

Doktor Schmidt had seen quite a lot, being a roving medic for a large number of little villages full of creatures that - were they seen by outsiders - would have been called freaks by the cruel. He'd seen to Centaurs, large and small, he'd seen to Whisps, delicate humanoids who had an unfortunate habit of glowing in the dark, and he'd seen to the deformed.  
This bright little lad was almost normal by comparison.  
And, he had to face it, there were whispers that Elves lived in secret places somewhere above the snowline. Mayhap this boy was one of them, lost or abandoned by his people before he became adopted.  
"Heartbeat's - interesting," he said. "Fascinating rythm... I'd have to say it's fairly normal. Very strong. Lungs nice and clear."  
Kurti's long little legs managed to catch him in the stomach.  
"Ooof! Fine muscles."  
Kurti tried to eat the stethescope. "Teething well?"  
"Oh yes," said Astrid Wagner. "He's got seven of his teeth. He's working on the eighth."  
"How's he walking? Most babies are practicing on becoming toddlers by now."  
Johannes Wagner wrestled Kurti back into his clothes. He may have had fewer fingers to tangle in his clothes, but he had more limbs to catch and fight.  
"Well. Apart from his shots, of course; that's what we wanted to talk to you about," said Astrid.  
"He's not really walking," added Johannes. "He can stand, and he furniture-walks *fine*."  
"But the minute he takes a step on his own, he falls flat on his face," finished Astrid.  
"Well, let him go, and we'll see if we can't find what the problem is," Doktor Schmidt advised.  
They set him loose on the floor.  
Kurti didn't really crawl. He walked on all fours - sort of. He only used the balls of his long feet - and the front toes, of course - to walk at the back. His hands were used just as every other crawling baby. He moved like an animal, long tail gleefully whipping about in joy.  
Kurti reached the desk, and pulled himself up. Again, he only stood on the balls of his feet. He laughed at the Doktor.   
Schmidt smiled back.  
"He only really uses the back toe when he's hanging off the top of his playpen," supplied Johannes.  
"Or our ceiling," said Astrid.  
"Ceiling?" Schmidt quoted.  
"He can *climb*," said Johannes. He plucked Kurti away from the desk, where he'd nearly reached its summit. "Here, lad. Climb that," and placed the boy against a sparse wall.  
Kurti did, laughing at his accomplishment.  
Now *that* was something new. Schmidt's eyebrows shot up as Johannes gently lifted the boy away and put him back down.  
"He'll do that a few more times before he tries to walk," said Astrid. "It happens all the time at home."  
"Ba ba ba ba ba ba ba..." murmured Kurti. "Mmmmmm... Brbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbr..." and he climbed the wall again.  
"Keeping you awake?" asked Schmidt.  
"He's started sleeping the night at *last*, thank *God*," said Astrid. "He's a very active baby. We've had to take turns keeping an eye on him,  
and he's so *curious*..."  
"Into everything," said Johannes. "We've had to child-proof every cupboard and door in the house."  
"And if he gets *outside*..." Astrid rolled her eyes, summarizing months of anxiety in one simple movement.  
"Aaah!" Kurti said. He was standing up, and looking eminently pleased with himself. "AAAAAAAAAAAAH!"  
His stance instantly caught Schmidt's attention. He was standing with his legs in a digigrade attitude, with the ankles acting as a second 'knee'.  
Kurti took a step, giggled, wagged his tail, and promptly fell over.  
"It's the tail," announced Schmidt. "And his digigrade stance." He scooped the baby up and flexed a leg. "Yes... those heels were never meant to touch the ground. If he tried to stand as we do, he'd put tremendous pressure on his ligaments. He can only do it when he's upside-down because gravity's working for him and not against him." He set Kurti loose and watched him clamber into the lap of his Mama. "He'll figure out his balance, soon enough. I wouldn't fret."  
"...ab ba am ma ab ba..." said Kurti. "Mmmm*mmmm*mmmm... Ma. Ma ma... ba."  
"And I wouldn't be too surprised if he starts talking, soon, either," said Schmidt. "Now. Let's get these dreadful needles done with, eh?"

He *nearly* had it, but every time he got close, his traitor tail would express his delight and send him down. Of course, Kurti was well used to this, and caught himself before he could get hurt. It was the *fall* that annoyed him.  
"Keep at it," said Papa. "You'll get there."  
"Mu ma bub bub ba," said Kurti, a little upset. Words would come to him, too. He was getting closer to real ones, instead of just making noise.  
He pulled himself up, let go of the chair, and tried again. Arms, stay still. Tail, stay still. One step. Two step. Three...  
Wag wag wag wag wag *thump*.  
Traitor tail! Kurti swatted at it and hurt himself. "Waaaaaaahhhhh..." he cried, "Waaaaahhaaaaaahhaaaaaa... Ma ma bub ma..."  
Papa scooped him up and held him high. "What's the fuss about, eh? You just need to try again."  
Kurti settled into Papa's hug and tried again to say his name. "Ah pa pa pa pa..." He sighed. Still no good.  
He *wanted* to do things. He *knew* how they were done. He just had no real way for working them on him.  
Once Papa was done cheering him up, he put Kurti down again. Kurti instantly pulled himself up on Papa's leg and had another try. Arms stay still. Tail stay still. One step. Two step. Three...  
Wag wag wag wag wag wag *thump*.  
"Wwwwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa..."  
"I think somebody's tired," said Mama. "Come on, Kurti. You'll feel better after a nap." Mama fed him and brushed him to sleep.

Kurti woke up and climbed over to the window. Mama and Papa were outside, playing on the wire things. The rig, they called it. It looked like fun, but Kurti wasn't really allowed outside.  
His window was loose.  
Kurti played with pushing and pulling before he climbed outside and four-walked over to Mama and Papa.  
It *did* look like fun.  
Kurti made it up to the rig and investigated the wire. He could hang on to that with his toes, easy, even if he lost balance. He'd have to stand, though. He could do that on his own.  
Kurti tried, and his tail wrapped itself loosely around the wire.  
Good. It couldn't wag.  
Arms out, just like Mama and Papa, Kurti tried.  
One step. Two step. Three step. Four step. He did it! "Mama!"  
Mama turned. Papa gasped.  
"Mama mama mama mama mama!" Kurti walked across the wire to her. "Mama mama mama mama."  
She picked him up and laughed and cried at the same time.  
"He's one of us, love," said Papa. "Walking the wire before walking on the ground."  
"It was always an expression, before," said Mama, covering Kurti with kisses.  
He was right. It *was* fun. Kurti laughed.  
"Ach! How did you get out?" said Mama.  
"Mama," said Kurti.


	7. Miracle

::Chapter:_:Seven: Miracle

Kurti was getting less food over himself and more inside. This, as far as Astrid was concerned, was a minor boon. He'd never made projectiles out of it, thank God, preferring to try and cram everything down his throat at once, instead.  
"Done, Mama," he said, showing her the empty bowl.  
"Do you want more or do you want out?" she asked. Silly question, really. There was only one possible answer before the third helping.  
"More?"  
"What do we say?" prompted Johannes.  
"More please."  
"Good lad," he got up and dished out another bowl for Kurti. Things *should* have been a little bit easier on Astrid since he'd moved onto solids, but she'd been feeling poorly, lately.  
Just a few months of normalicy returning, and now this. Kurti was threatening to approach the 'terrible two's and she did not need to be  
ill at *this* stage in his life.  
"Astrid?"  
"Ach... It's probably some stomach bug that's going around," she dismissed. "It passes in an hour, or if I eat something light. It'll go away in a week."  
Johannes sighed at her. "That's what you said last week," he said.  
"Very good!" Kurti clapped as he got his new bowlful. "Thankyou, Papa."  
Johannes ruffled his hair. "Good boy." He sat and held her hand. "Astrid, you need to see the doctor about this. It's been a fortnight already. We don't know how long it's going to go or even what it is... Astrid... I'm worried about you."  
Kurti slowed up eating. "Mama? Are you sick?"  
"It's only a little," she assured him. "It's probably nothing at all. It just comes and goes."

"Mmmmm..." said Doktor Schmidt. He listened to Mama's heart. "A little off your food, you say... Hmmm." He checked her blood pressure.  
Kurti sucked his tail-tip. He was kind of scared that Mama was going to be sick. That sort of thing just didn't happen.  
Doktor Schmidt took out some of Mama's blood with a big needle.  
Kurti flinched in sympathy and clung all the tighter to Papa and whimpered.  
Mama just calmly taped a band-aid to her boo-boo. "It's all right, fuzzy-love. It's just a little prick."  
That what they said about *his* needles, and he cried all the way home.  
Doktor Schmidt dropped some of the blood into a vial, and added a chemical that smelled kinda funny.  
It turned blue, like Kurti's fur.  
"Uh-*hah*!" He grinned. "Congratulations, Missus Wagner. You're going to have a baby."  
"But -- *how*?" Mama said. "We tried for fifteen years!"  
"Maybe you tried too hard, yes?" Doktor Schmidt smiled, and wrote out some notes on a card, which he gave to Mama. "These are some midwives in your area, they'll keep tabs on you when I'm not around."  
"But--" said Mama.  
Papa was grinning. "Two little miracles," he said. "First our beautiful Kurti and now this..."  
"But I didn't pray..."  
"Maybe you were in God's 'in' box, ne?" Doktor Schmidt poured out glasses of water.  
"I don't believe it," said Mama. "How could it happen? After we tried and tried and prayed and prayed and... Oh, Johannes..."  
Papa hugged Mama. "This is wonderful. After all this time."  
"Just as good as the day we found Kurti..." Mama started crying.  
"What do you mean?" he said. "Where did I come from?"  
"Aw, love," Papa hugged him and kissed his forehead. "We really don't know. One day, your Mama and I--" a little pause. A tiny hint of sadness. "--found you on our back doorstep."  
"There was no note. No clue about where you came from," said Mama. "And no sign of your real parents."  
"But *you're* my real parents," he said.  
"No, love; we adopted you," Mama tried to explain. "This baby is our first child."  
"Adopted? What's that?"  
Papa sighed. "It's when a man and a woman want to be a Mama and Papa to someone, but they think they can't do it by themselves. So they take in a baby and raise it as their own."  
Kurti started feeling really scared. "Now you're *getting* your own baby," he said. "Does that mean you won't want me any more?"  
"Of *course* not, darling. We *love* you," Mama took him from Papa's lap and gave him a hug. "We *couldn't* give you up. Not ever."  
Kurti still cried. He had a real mother, somewhere, and she didn't love him enough to have kept him for her own.  
"Don't cry. Don't cry," Mama soothed. "We'll *always* love you."  
"But - my other Mama... My other *Papa*..." Kurti sniffed.  
"I'm sure they had their reasons," said Papa. "And I'm sure they were good ones. Try not to worry about it, huh? We'll always be here for you."

Kurti got up from bed and opened his window, staring out into the dark. "God," he said, "Please take these kisses to my other Mama and Papa? Just in case they miss me? Please keep them safe and fed and warm."  
And he started blowing kisses at the woods until the little hole in his heart felt better.  
"Kurti?"  
Papa was in his doorway.  
"I was going back to bed, honest," he said.  
"So what were you doing up if you were going straight back to bed?" asked Papa.  
Kurti leaped back under the covers. "I was just sending some kisses to my other Mama and Papa. In case they missed me."  
Papa tucked him in. "Ach, you have such a kind heart," said Papa. "Don't you ever change it."  
Kurti smiled and closed his eyes as Papa kissed him goodnight. "Goodnight, Papa. Give Mama an extra hug for me?"  
"I will. Goodnight."


	8. Katja

::Chapter:_:Eight: Katja

Kurti peered over the edge of the cot at his sister. "She sleeps a lot," he whispered. "Is she sick?"  
"No," whispered Papa. "Babies need a lot of sleep, it's how they grow so fast."  
"Oh." He stared at her some more. "What's her name?"  
"Katja Wagner."  
"That's it?" Kurti looked at his father. "Why doesn't she have a middle name?"  
"She'll get one when she's older. When she is confirmed."  
"Have *I* had that?"  
"Not yet."  
"So howcome I have a middle name?"  
Papa chuckled and patted his head. "We made a lot of promises to Saint Ignatious of the Mountains," he said. "So we had to give you his name."  
"Oh." Kurti went back to staring at his sister. "When's her fur gonna grow in?"  
"Katja won't have fur, love. She has a different mother and father to you, remember?"  
"Oh. Yeah." He watched Katja's tiny fist escape from her swaddling. "Five fingers," he said. "Just like you and Mama."  
"...mmmmmmmmmm..." said Katja, opening her eyes. "...aaaaaaaaa..."  
Kurti clamped his hands over his mouth with a tiny gasp. "Oh no..."  
"Hello, love," Papa cooed. "Are you hungry or wet, hm?"  
"Wwwwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhaaaaaaaaa!" Katja thrashed her little fists.  
"Sounds hungry," said Mama, and picked Katja up. "But a change wouldn't hurt either, no?"  
Kurti watched in fascination as Katja got unwrapped and undressed. "Hey," he said. "She hasn't got a tail."  
"Neither have we," said Mama.  
"She hasn't got a weewee!" Kurti observed. "What happened to it?"  
"Girls don't have them, love," said Papa. "That's the way we're *all* made."  
Katja got changed and dressed and Mama fed her. Kurti watched the entire process with horrified fascination.  
"Doesn't it hurt when she bites you?" asked Kurti.  
"She isn't biting, she's suckling," said Mama. "And it hurts a little, but I don't mind."  
"Why?"  
"Because I love her. Just like I love you."  
"But you don't have to do that for *me*," he argued. "I can feed myself."  
"Yes," said Papa. "But when you were this little, Mama fed you *exactly* like that."  
"Well," allowed Mama. "You *were* a little bigger than Katja when we found you, but it's all the same. You were too young to eat by yourself, back then."  
Kurti didn't believe it. "I can't remember doing *that*," he said.  
"Most people don't," said Papa.  
Katja fell asleep after Papa burped her, and Kurti watched her sleep again.  
"When can I hold her?" he asked.  
"When she's a little older and you can both appreciate it," said Papa. "Right now, all she wants to do is eat and sleep. When she's old enough for cuddles, you can cuddle her."  
"But you *must* remember to be very careful with her," said Mama. "Little babies are very fragile, and you don't want to hurt her."  
"I know," said Kurti. His sister's hand flexed beside her face. "Everyone's been telling me."  
Mama went back to bed, still tired from having Katja.  
"I love you too, Katja," Kurti whispered. "Even though I can't show it yet."


	9. The Origin of Schmerzmann

::Chapter:_:Nine: The Origin of Schmerzmann

"Whoah!" {THUD!} Kurti moaned, but stifled the noise. He couldn't make a fuss. He was a *big* boy, now. A big brother. What sort of a big brother would he be if he just cried every time he hurt himself? Kurti choked back tears. He had to be a good big brother.  
But it *HURT*!  
A whimper escaped his throat and Kurti felt ashamed. Some big brother. He couldn't even be brave.  
Papa came out and found him lying on the ground. "What is it, Kurti? What's wrong?"  
Kurti shook his head, clenching his teeth shut. The movement hurt him more and another whimper got out. What a big baby.  
Papa picked him up and bought him in, sitting Kurti on a comfy chair. "Where does it hurt, love?"  
Kurti held back tears. He didn't want to be a wimp. He wanted to be brave.  
"Won't you show Papa?"  
Kurti shook his head. He had to be really, *really* brave. So he'd be a *good* big brother.  
"What's the matter?" said Mama.  
Oh, *no*... It had all gone *wrong*. Kurti let his tears out, but tried his best not to wail. All in all, he was a complete failure.  
"Kurti hurt himself," said Papa. "But I can't get a peep out of him about how or where."  
"Ach..." said Mama, and vanished into Kurti's room. She came back with his favourite teddy, Coco. "Now, Kurti. We'd like to help Coco, because *he* hurt himself just like you. We need to know where the boo-boo is."  
Kurti looked at the soft toy. True, Coco was covered in fur, but he didn't have a tail and he wasn't blue... "He's not like me," Kurti  
managed.  
Mama sighed. "So much for that idea, yes? Let's have a look at you. Let's see." Mama's gentle hands lifted his head, uncurled him from his huddle. "There. He's bleeding."  
Kurti only looked once. *Yuck*!  
Papa came with the medical kit. "Oooohhh... that looks *bad*. Our poor little boy. Why didn't you *say* anything?"  
Kurti just felt ashamed. His first go at being a strong, brave, big brother and he'd *failed*.  
"Very full hands," Papa muttered, cleaning out the bad scrape on Kurti's arm.

"They're both asleep," said Johannes as he stumbled into their bedroom. Whoever said kids went to bed early had obviously never known Kurti. "Well, love? Is this new silent treatment a phase or a character flaw?"  
Astrid continued knitting. Whatever it was, it was almost the same hue as Kurti's fur. "Whichever it is, I plan to be prepared."  
"With a sock?"  
Astrid smiled. "I'm knitting a doll, and it's going to be just like our Kurti."  
"*Ah*," said Johannes. "It's probably a good idea. He's going to realize he's different from everyone else, sometime soon. I'm afraid it'll break his heart."  
"So pretend company is a good idea?"  
"It'll remind him that we love him, no matter what."  
Johannes settled next to his beloved. "I bow to your supreme knowledge of child psychology, my Lady."  
Astrid kept knitting. "Flatterer."


	10. Introducing Schmerzmann

::Chapter:_:Ten: Introducing Schmerzmann

Kurti opened his eyes to see something incredible. There was a little doll-Kurti lying on his pillow, looking back at him with gold buttons for eyes. The doll - or effigy - was the very image of him. Gold eyes. Indigo hair. Tridactyl hands. Tail. He had *everything*. Even little felt pyjamas that matched Kurti's.  
Kurti sneaked a quick look inside the doll's pants. Okay. Not *everything*. Finding a match for *that* on a toy would have just been disturbing.  
_God bless you, Mama,_ Kurti thought, and scooped up the toy. This was just the thing he needed so he wouldn't have to wimp out and be a bad big brother to Katja.  
He rushed out to give her a hug. "Thank you, Mama!"  
"Whatever for?" said Mama, playing innocent.  
"For Schmerzmann, of course," he told her, holding the doll aloft. "He's the best. *You're* the best. *Thank* you *so* much..." And he hugged her again.  
"*Schmerzmann*?" said Mama. "Why Schmerzmann?"  
"Why not?" said Kurti. "That's what you made him for."  
"Impeccable logic," said Papa. "We'd better watch out for *this* brilliant little man."  
Kurti grinned at him, then turned back to Mama. "So where are the rest of his clothes?"  
"Eh?" said Mama. This time she was really confused. "What do you mean 'the rest'?"  
"Well, he's just like me," said Kurti. "He's gotta have clothes just like me, too."  
Papa started laughing. "Impeccable logic," he said.  
Mama sighed. "Laura had to have *underpants* on her dolls. Susi had to have *navels*. *My* son has to have a verdammt matching wardrobe..."  
Papa just kept on laughing.


	11. Audition

::Chapter:_:Eleven: Audition

Summer was always the season of fun. It was the time of year when most of Heirelgart and some of Statleindorf packed up and toured the Scwartzwald for fun and profit.  
It was the best time. He and Andrei and Stefan and sometimes Jimaine would chase each other endlessly through tents, wagons and camper vans, or listen in awe to one of the story-tellers, or watch from under the seats as their families went through various acts. Or, if push came to shove, just hang out somewhere and watch the world go by.  
Andrei, the biggest, and by a technicality of a few months, the eldest, had been told to watch them. He'd also been told to keep Kurti firmly in the realm of 'backstage' to the circus, which meant that most of the adults were too busy to tell any stories. And they weren't allowed to run.  
Kurti, age three, threw a rock at a stump and sighed. Katja was having yet another nap and wouldn't be able to play with him for *hours*, and Mama and Papa were up on the high-wire astounding the good people of Bomysneir. Stefan and Jimaine were doing something with the trained horses and therefore couldn't play. He was bored.  
"OH!" He instantly perked up. "Andrei, *look*!"  
One of the good people of Bomysneir was munching on a giant cruller as he wended his way towards the circus tent.  
"Whoah," said Andrei. "That's one big cruller."  
"It's gotta be bigger than my *head*," said Kurti. Instantly, his tummy rumbled. "Ach! Now I'm *hungry*..."  
"No, Kurti," Andrei instantly blocked his path. "Your Papa said to keep you backstage. He *meant* it."  
"I'll just ask Mama, then," said Kurti, and dashed towards the performer's entrance of the tent as fast as his limbs could carry him.  
"*Kur-ti*..." Andrei yelled, galloping far behind. "Get *back* here! You'll ruin the show!"

The circus really outdid itself *this* year. The Flying Amazements (also a high-wire act) had hushed the crowd to whispered gasps as one of their number attempted a dangerous stunt. Just as she was about to commence, a kid in a blue devil costume galloped into the arena, followed closely by a young Centaur boy, yelling for him to come back.  
The little blue devil made it to a guy-wire and ascended it as if it were a walk in the park. His centaur friend, by the time he caught up, was too short to try and catch him down. He tried anyway, much to the amusement of the crowd.  
"Kurti, you'll *fall*," warned the Centaur.  
Kurti, the little blue devil, just said, "Aw, don't be such a fuss, Andrei. I'll be *fine*. I just wanna ask Mama for a cruller."  
The audience giggled, even as he calmly walked all the way up to the highest highwire in the tent. They *did* murmur a little, though, as the tiny costumed boy stepped out onto the wire without any kind of balancing beam.  
His Mama was apparently the woman about to try the stunt.  
Andrei circled nervously underneath, arms spasming out with every step high above.  
"Mama, Mama, Mama," said the devil-boy, bouncing a little in excitement. "They're making crullers outside! They're as big as my *head*! Even *bigger*! Can I have one, *please*?"  
"Kurti..." sighed the woman. "I'm in the middle of something, here."  
"Okay," and Kurti backed off a little. "Am I far enough away?"  
His Mama sighed at him. "A little bit further."  
The dutiful boy walked backwards some more.  
"Very good," said Mama and carefully turned a slow cartwheel.  
The audience went nuts.  
"That's *it*?" said Kurti. "I can do it *backwards*." And proceeded to do three backwards slow cartwheels while his Mama stood and squeaked.  
The audience went berserk.  
"*Now* can I have a cruller? One of the *big* ones?"  
"Kurti, you shouldn't even be up here."  
Somebody in the audience shouted, "Give the kid a cruller!"  
"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaase, Mama?"  
Now the whole audience shouted it. "Give the kid a cruller!"  
"Please, please, please, please, please, *pleeeeease*?"  
"Give the kid a cruller!"  
His Mama gave up. "All right. You can have your cruller."  
"Yay!" The kid jumped and turned a somersault before landing back on the wire.  
"Now get *down* from here," said Mama.  
The audience *exploded*. They gave a roaring standing ovation for the little boy in the spotlight as he wandered back down to ground level. His Centaur friend carried him around the ring in a victory lap as he took his bows and the Flying Amazements returned to the ground.

The cruller was sticky, but it was *good*. *And* it was bigger than his head. Kurti munched happily away on the thing as he crouch-sat on the stump and purred softly in delight.   
Every now and then, one of the good people of Bomysneir would tour by, point him out and say, "Ah, look... He got his cruller," or, "Worth every bite?" and occasionally, "Good *lord*!"  
Kurti just kept on chewing.  
A few people stopped and took photographs of him, and Andrei lounging by the stump and nibbling idly on the grass he found. Being a Centaur  
and larger than Kurti to boot, he'd finished his cruller before they got back from the shop that sold them.  
Kurti was unperturbed, and industrious in his efforts to demolish his gigantic pastry treat.  
One stranger stood and stared for the longest time. An old man with an impressive physique. Eventually, he took a photograph.  
Kurti finished the cruller off and licked his hands clean. Then he got up and wandered back into the thick of 'backstage' to see Mama and Katja and all the others.

Katja, as usual, was a mess. More of her baby food was going over her than in her, and she had a habit of suddenly turning to see what was going on.  
"Ach!" Johannes sighed as yet another smear of egg custard wound up on Katja's cheek rather than in her mouth. "Do you want to eat or do you want to look?"  
"Hello Katja," Kurti kissed his sister on her forehead. She giggled at his fur and tried to grab him. "Ach! Don't touch me, you're sticky!" He washed his face and hands in a water bucket and towelled himself dry. "Where's Mama?"  
"Getting over her fright at seeing you turning cartwheels and somersaults on a wire that's some twenty-five feet off the ground. You gave her quite a turn."  
"But I wasn't gonna *fall*," he said.  
"*We* didn't know that," said Papa. "You scared half the life out of your Mama. She had to go lie down."  
"Ah," said Katja, mouth open for more food. "Uh ah... *uh*!"  
At least this time, the spoon went in.  
Kurti hung his head. "I'd better go appologise to Mama," he said, and headed for their trailer.

Astrid sighed as she heard the door open. "Yes, Kurti?" She had to remember not to be angry at him just because she'd been scared.  
"Did I wake you?"  
"No, love. I was awake anyway." She made an effort to smile. "You gave me quite a scare, up there."  
Kurti climbed up and hugged her.  
Astrid hugged him back as if she never wanted to let go, and found herself weeping as well.  
"Oh, Mama... I'm so sorry. I was just *hungry* and I knew I wasn't gonna *fall*."  
"You weren't scared at all?" she asked. "Didn't you see how far down it was?"  
"Yeah, I saw. I just wasn't going to fall. I've been walking wires *forever*," he boasted. "I play on the rig every single afternoon when we're at home in Heirelgart."  
"You do?"  
"Yeah, it's fun. But not as fun as an *audience*! Why didn't you *tell* me that your work was such fun?"  
Her twitchy stomach was forgotten. "You liked it up there, did you?"  
"Oh *yeah*!" Kurti hopped up and down. "The way they all clapped and cheered and everything... I wanna do it again! Can I do it again? Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, *pleeeeeeeeaaase*?"  
Astrid couldn't help but laugh. "I'll have to talk with your Papa about it. Later. I'm feeling a little off-colour, right now."  
"Is it me or the baby?"  
_Huh?_ "Katja's outside, love. Why would she make me sick?"  
"Not Katja. The new one."  
Astrid blinked. "What new one? I don't understand."  
Kurti frowned, he was getting frustrated with trying to explain. "When you were going to have Katja, your lights changed, and then you got a little sick. I can see it now that it's getting a little dark out. Your lights have changed. There's your light, and the little baby's light."  
The explanation made a kind of skewed sense. "You see lights around people?" she asked. "When?"  
"Mostly at night, and I can sort-of see them in the day. It's like they're getting brighter, but I think I'm getting better at looking."  
Astrid got up as if something had bitten her and all-but ran towards Margali's tent, Kurti's arm held fast in her hand. _Please, God, not the Sight on top of everything else! He'll have a hard enough life as it is! Please God, don't let him have the Sight..._  
Stefan and Jimaine looked up from their card game as she entered. Margali didn't have working eyes to see her, but seemed to look at her just the same.  
"You think something is wrong with your son?" said Margali.  
"He says he sees lights around people," said Astrid. "So of course I thought of you, first thing."  
Margali smirked. "He told you about the new little one, didn't he?"  
Astrid could feel the blood leave her face. Margali didn't have working eyes, true, but she *did* have the Sight. The Romani whispered amongst themselves that if the Sight came too early, it would drive its possessor insane.  
"Please. You have to tell me if he has the Sight..." Just the thought of nursing her little boy through madness made her want to weep. "I have  
to know."  
"He does not See as I do," said Margali. "His sight works in a different way to us. He sees heat, and magnetic fields - especially at night. Soon, he'll be able to tell you where he is by the 'scent' of a place. He'll forever call it a 'scent', even though he doesn't need his nose to see it as such." Margali took off her scarf, and bound it around Kurti's eyes. "Watch." She spun him about until he could hardly stand. "Point the way north, Kurti."  
He did. Accurately. Even though he staggered about like a drunkard, that one finger didn't waver.  
Margali took her scarf back and re-tied it about her head. "You need not fear. He needs this sight of his to grow into his power."  
"His - power?"  
"Your boy is special beyond reckoning, Astrid Wagner. He has a long path ahead of him, and many trials. In time, he will need education from afar, and you will have to let him go get it alone. Fear not, my friend. He will do well."  
"I - I thank you," said Astrid. Her head was whirling. Kurti was only *three*!  
"Be at peace, Astrid," soothed Margali. "Stress isn't good for your new child."  
She held Kurti tight all the way back to their trailer.  
Johannes had been patiently minding Katja all this time, without a word of protest. He was waiting with their baby girl when she got back. "What's the matter?" he asked.  
"I thought Kurti had the Sight," she said. "It was a false alarm of sorts."  
"Of *sorts*?"  
"He has a different way of seeing things, apparently," Astrid sighed and sat by her beloved. "And also - we're having another child."  
"We *are*?" said Johannes.  
"Can't *you* see it *either*?" asked Kurti. "It's as bright as *day*..."  
"To you, love," said Johannes, ruffling Kurti's hair. "We happen to have different eyes, is all."


	12. The Black Major

::Chapter:_:Twelve: The Black Major

Kurti did his best to stay quiet. Mama and Papa needed their rest, and he needed to do something very important. Something he needed to do because he loved his family so much.  
He needed to run away from home.  
It had been a difficult decision, reached after weeks of silent crying and thinking hard about what to do. But it was the only conclusion he could reach, especially after those toughs beat up on Papa for trying to protect him.  
He had to leave a note, but at four and a half, he only had the vaguest idea about writing one. He couldn't write all the words he wanted to put down. He had to draw the concepts instead.  
Kurti got the biggest sheet of paper he could find, and got out his crayons. First, and most important was the love he felt for his family. That was easy. He drew them all, hugging. Him, Katja, Anja and Mama and Papa, all in a circle (Mama had a bulging tummy with yet another baby) and surrounded by love-hearts.  
Next, his worries and fears for them if he continued to stay. That was harder. He drew himself again, and connected the picture with a drawing of bad men beating up Papa via a think-bubble. He connected *that* to another drawing of bad men beating up his whole family, and made that the thought-bubble of a crying Kurti-picture.  
The bottom of the picture was dominated by a mural of Kurti leaving home, heading out across mountains and forests to find his real family (Two adult-sized blue demon-figures) on the other side.  
He placed it on the kitchen table, where they'd find it, and went to his room to pack.  
He took Schmerzmann, to remind him of his family. And his brush, to keep his fur clean. And a spare pair of overalls and a few shirts. And - this took him a lot of inner debate - half a loaf of bread.  
He packed them all in a gigantic scarf and put it on the end of a big stick, like he'd seen in picture books. Then, quieter than a mouse, he crept out of his home and set off into the unknown.  
On circus tours, Kurti had been north, west and south of Heirelgart, and no-one had seen anyone like him. Therefore, he went east. His people had to be east.

Breakfast time in the Wagner household was usually something of an experience. This time, it was a relatively quiet affair, until Mama Wagner started getting worried about Kurti.  
"He's usually here before the water starts to boil," she said.  
Papa Wagner finished buckling young Anja into her high-chair and spotted the table-cover. "Hello. Art... Kurti drew us a picture." He walked around until it made sense. "He drew us a letter."  
"Yeah?" said Mama, who couldn't see it. "What does it say?"  
Papa's face had fallen. "It says 'goodbye'."

Kurti's tummy rumbled at him, and he didn't want to think about eating up all the bread yet. He had to find something to put on it, first. Make it last.  
He'd thought that springtime was when all the flowers and things came out, and there was plenty of food.  
Well, there *would* be plenty of food if he could eat grass like Andrei.  
He tried. It just tasted yuck.  
Kurti couldn't go back. He'd just wind up hurting everyone he loved. He didn't want to do that. Not at all.  
The lowing - no, *bawling* - of a cow caught his attention. He zeroed in on the source of the sound and started running. Cows meant farms. Farms meant farmhouses. Farmhouses meant delicious breakfasts. He *could*, if he was lucky, talk his way into earning a good breakfast. And if not, he could maybe filch a little something to put on his bread.  
The cow stood alone, bawling for her calf. Her udder looked awful swollen. She had to be in pain.  
"Hey, cow," he cooed. "Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you. You see, I'm *very* hungry, and some nice, warm milk would really hit the spot. So maybe we could come to an agreement, yes?"  
The cow just stared at him.  
"*Good* cow," Kurti murmured, petting her. "I'm just gonna try getting a squirt or two of milk. Don't kick me, yes?"  
The cow just stood there.  
He'd been taught how to milk farm animals, and knew that the creatures much preferred his touch, since he was always nice and warm.  
And then, so was the milk.

Major Stinheild Lowhard, Stinz to all his friends, cursed up a blue storm as he discovered his prize cow had gone missing again. Stupid creature had probably gone off in search of her calf again. If his old legs weren't so shaky, these days, he'd hoof the animal into next week.  
He leaned on his cane and started tracking her.  
"...blankety blank-blank bleepin' *blank*..." he muttered, following the tracks through the fence. For such a dumb animal, she was sure brilliant at escapology. Bloody stupid at everything else, but brilliant at escapology.  
He followed her uphill. Damn-blasted animal had doubtless split her udder wide open - and if she hadn't, he was half-tempted to let her. Sell her for beef, because she was getting to be too much verdammt trouble for his liking.  
He couldn't even hear her bawling for the calf he'd sold all the way across the other side of the Geiselthal. That, in his humble opinion, was a danger sign. Maybe she was already so many pounds of cooling beef...  
No, she was lying on the grass and chewing her cud.  
"Having a nice rest?" he sarcasmed. "Or perhaps you forgot that you have to get milked, yes? Or perhaps some little fairies came down and helped themselves..." he moved over to the cow and improvised a rope halter around her head. "Or maybe it was the --" then he saw it. "--little Elves?"  
There, using Bessy as a living pillow, was the most fantastic creature that Stinz had ever seen.  
He'd heard whispers of them. Elves living above the snowline. Far away from civilised contact. Personally, Stinz didn't blame them. The civilised world and its damn fool science had ruined a lot of things, and yet it pretended that it was, instead, an improvement.  
This Elf was small, he expected that. The coat of blue fur was something of a surprise, but it made sense. An adaption against the cold. The delicately pointed ears weren't a shock, though. Everyone *knew* that Elves had pointed ears.  
The tail, frankly, made him jump.  
"Good *God* in heaven!"  
The effect on the boy was electric, he woke up in an instant, and Stinz barely had time to register the milk-stains on his mouth before he sprang away from the cow and guarded his small body with a stick.  
"I'msorryIdidn'tmeanit! I'mnoharmtoanyoneIswear, andIdidn't *really* meantostealyourcow'smilk, onlyIwassohungryandshewashurtand *please* don'thitme?"  
There was only one rule with magical creatures: Don't annoy them.  
Therefore, Stinz took great care to be excessively polite to the lad. "Easy now, young colt," he soothed. "I only came for the cow. I know how your kind likes fresh milk, eh? If it wasn't for you, I'd have a lot of work on my hands, wouldn't I?"  
The boy un-huddled, and stood on the front of his feet - just like a demon. Mayhap that was *why* the Elves stayed away from civilization. They knew what they'd look like to the superstitious. "You - know about my people?" he asked.  
"Only by reputation, young sir," he said. "You're a long way from the mountains."  
The boy looked back uphill, and Stinz could see a silver crucifix dangling from his neck. "Yeah."  
_Huh. A Christian Elf... Who'd have thought it?_  
"I didn't mean to scare you," said the boy. "I'll just - go." And he started walking eastwards. He looked beaten and defeated, his tail barely held above the ground.  
_Ach... Bruna's going to kill me for this..._ He lead Bessy along more-or less the same path. "Since we're travelling the same way," he began, "why don't you stop by my place. My wife should be getting a good breakfast ready by now."  
"Oh, I don't want to impose," said the boy, trudging along. "I have a little bread. I can make do."  
So *meek*. There had to be a story behind *this*... And if there was one thing a Centaur loved, it was stories. "From the looks of things, you just about milked my Bessy out. I don't think you'd be able to make do on a little bread for very long."  
True enough, the kid's stomach rumbled. "I - I don't want to impose," he said. "But *maybe* I can do a few chores? Work for my keep? I -um- I eat an awful lot."  
"Then you'd best sit yourself on my withers," he said, patting his hair-end in invitation. "I can't make you walk all the way to my house and then demand you *work*. It just isn't right."  
"Ride you? But I barely know you, sir. Isn't that - rude?"  
Interesting. He knew Centaur ways. "Ach, I've carried plenty of strangers on my back. I'm used to it."  
"I don't wanna show disrespect."  
Stinz sighed. He held out his hand. "Stinz Lowhard."  
The boy took it. "Kurti Wagner."  
Well, that was no help in finding his kinfolk. There were Wagners spread thick all over the Schwartzwald. Hell, most of them were Romani, and constantly touring the hillsides.  
Stinz helped the boy up, and was only mildly surprised that he knew how to sit on a Centaur. "You know how to ride my people."  
"My best friend Andrei gives me rides all the time," said Kurti as he clasped a bright scarf full of his things close to his body. "He says my feet are too soft to trust on their own when there's prickles around."  
"He does, eh?" _West of here... a little village with Centaurs and Gypsies, maybe? Not many of them around._ "Sounds like you had fun."  
"Oh, I did. Especially races. I'm the only two-legger who can keep up with a four-foot. But Stefan says that my galloping's cheating. He's just jealous 'cause he can't do it."  
Stinz laughed dutifully. "If it's such fun, why are you running away?"  
All the happiness left Kurti's voice. "Some bad people came and beat up on Papa for protecting me. They wanted to hurt me 'cause I look like a demon."  
"And your Papa doesn't?"  
"I'm adopted. My real Mama and Papa left me on their doorstep. That's why I'm heading east. 'Cause I've *been* north and south and west of home, and no-one *there* has seen anyone like me."  
_Oh dear._ Stinz was now determined to delay the lad at his place, so his family could come for him. He knew of nothing that lay eastwards but barren wastes. No little slip of a boy - Elf or not - could survive out there. And that was assuming he could even *get* that far. Many of the folks in the Geiselthal were a lot less open-minded about things than Stinz. They wouldn't even *look* for the cross around Kurti's neck.  
"Well," said Stinz. "You'll have a lot of walking ahead of you. I can't recall ever hearing of Elves to the *east*. You'll have to raise a lot of money to travel further than gossip, my friend."  
"I will?"  
"Tell you what," he offered. "I need someone to help me out around my farm. You'll get paid for your work, of course. And when you have enough, I'll have asked around and found out where your kinfolk are most likely to be."  
"An Elf," Kurti murmured. "Everyone else who's seen me says I look like a demon. Maybe I'm getting closer already."

"Kuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrr-tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!"  
"KUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRR-TIIIIIIIIIIIII!"  
Most of Heirelgart had turned out to look for him. Andrei, who knew how Kurti thought and who could actually *see* little fuzzy's tracks, had guided them eastwards before he lost the trail completely. Now, the golden Centaur galloped back and forth through the woods, calling for his best friend.  
"*KUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRR-TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII*!"  
So far, there'd been no answer. Mrs Wagner's calls for her son bordered on becoming hysterical screams, and Mr Wagner had to stay close to her and cheer her up.  
*There*! A tiny patch of blue fur on some bark.  
"*HERE*! _*HERE*_!" Andrei bellowed. "I found a trace!"  
The shouts of, "A trace! A trace!" echoed up and down the search line, and half of Heirelgart zeroed in on him.  
When they'd gathered, Andrei pointed out the wisp of fur, and searched about for Kurti's unique scent, or a hint of track.  
"*Damn* the rain," he said. "I can't see another trace..."  
Papa clapped him on the shoulder. "Your eyes are keener than ours, lad. Keep looking on the main line. We'll just spread out again."  
Andrei sighed. "Yes, Papa."  
And as they fanned out, the calling began again.  
"*KUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRR*-TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!"

"Stinheild Lowhard, hast thou gone addled in the head? Just who art thou talking to?"  
"Kurti Wagner," said Stinz, "Meet my lady wife, Bruna Lowhard." He sidled around to reveal a very small figure clinging to his withers.  
"*God*," said Bruna. "How far up the mountain did that verdammt cow *climb*?"  
"I'm sorry," said the little demon-boy. "I shouldn't have come. Thank you for the ride, sir." He climbed off, put his belongings over his shoulder and started walking for the road.  
Stinz glared at her and handed her the cow's rope before he went trotting after the devil-boy. There was a moment of agitated discussion on Stinz's side, and a lot of quiet head-shaking on the boy's before the kid dropped to a crouch and Stinz came back.  
"Woman, thou wilt listen to me," he hissed. "That boy's been taken in by others, he doesn't know where his people are and he thinks they're somewhere *east* of here. And thou *knowest* what's east of here."  
"Dear God," she whispered. No soul, no matter *what* their outward appearance, deserved to try travelling in the wasteland to the east. "Oh, Stinz. I'm so sorry."  
"Good," he said. "Now I can get him to come in. Be *careful* what thou sayest, love. I think his heart's been broke enough, today."  
"Aye," Bruna bit her lip. "I can see it in the way he carries himself. He's hurting awful bad."  
"Remember that."  
Bruna nodded once. She tried to think about the things children took with them when they ran away from home. Favourite toys, *maybe* a few clothes, sometimes a little bit of money, but very rarely any food. She definitely pictured what would happen to a child out on that blasted, barren steppe with no shelter and pitiful supplies.  
"See? Bruna didn't mean anything," said Stinz. He took the cow back off her.  
"Ach, you poor little boy. I didn't mean to break your heart. Come in, come in," she beckoned him. "I was just finishing a pot of porridge."  
"Oh..." Kurti breathed. "Centaurs make the *best* porridge..."  
He stopped at the door and, after Bruna had washed her feet, cleaned his own hands, face, and feet; drying them properly before he entered the house.  
Kurti *knew* Centaur customs. Better than some of her own children. Certainly better than some husbands she could mention.  
"I'm sorry I scared you, Frau," he murmured, voice soft and timid. "I can't really help how I look."  
"Na, it's all over with," she soothed. "It's human nature to be scared of something new. And you're certainly new."  
"Am I really frightening?" he asked. "No-one at home will tell me, but I scare strangers."  
Bruna hastily cleaned her craftwork off a chair she usually reserved for two-leggers or grandchildren, and sat the boy down on it. "I must admit you* are* a bit of a shock at first. But you aren't a monster. Stinz, once you get him going, will tell you of monsters who walked around without looking scary at all."  
"Opa told me about a real monster," said Kurti. "His name was Hitler. He put numbers on Opa's arm."  
"That's him," said Bruna. "Him and the people who followed him. Like Mengele." She looked up to see her husband trot inside with dirty feet. "Stinheild Lowhard, thou hast been shown up by a four-year-old *boy*. Wash thy *feet*!"  
"I'm four and a half, Frau," Kurti corrected.  
Stinz muttered curses as he splashed his feet in the bowl.  
"And watch thy language," Bruna added. "Remember thy little guest and thy manners!"  
Curse curse curse women curse curse.  
If Kurti even understood what Stinz was saying, he gave no clue.  
"Ach... *Men*," Bruna hissed. "They get more like children than children do as they age..." she sighed. "Don't mind us, Kurti. We just love to fight. It's all fun to us."  
Kurti breathed a sigh of relief even as he took a little blue doll from his 'pack'. It was the very image of him in blue acrylic fibre. Right down to the clothes it wore. She saw a glimpse of clothing in there and a hint of bread as well.  
Once again, her dire vision haunted her.  
"You stay right there, dear. I'll get you something to eat." She all-but galloped into the kitchen, and hurriedly dished up bowlfuls of porridge.  
"So is he settling?" Stinz asked. "He's awful nervy. Poor boy."  
"Stinz. You may have just saved his life. Lord alone knows what our *neighbours* may have done to him, and if he made it to the steppes..." Bruna shook her head. "Poor little lad."  
"I'll tell him war stories and thou feedst him, ne?" said Stinz, packing his pipe. "Between the two of us, we aught to send him to sleep soon enough."  
"Thou'st heard me gossiping with my friends, old man."  
"Less of the old, woman," Stinz smirked. "I'm still younger than thou art."

Kurti purred in pure delight. A comfy seat, a warm fire, and a heaping bowlful of old-style Centaur porridge. Bliss. His tail even wriggled with his delight, curling and uncurling in the soft pillows.  
"There's no end to your surprises, is there, lad?" said Herr Lowhard.  
Kurti shrugged, and snuggled into the pillows. He tried to savour his meal, but it was too good. Soon, he was scraping the bottom for the last honeyed, spicy dregs.  
"Ach! You eat a lot for a little two-legger," said Frau Lowhard. "Poor lad, you must be starving. Let me get you another bowl."  
Part of him wanted to cheer, but Kurti kept his reaction down to a wide grin, and a little more purring.  
Herr Lowhard chuckled indulgently. "Ah, my dear boy, this reminds me of a spring some many years ago, when I first realised the war we were fighting was wrong."  
"You were in the war?" said Kurti.  
"Oh, aye. I fought with our fellow misled soldiers for the Reich and glory, until I woke up to myself, and saw that flatulant little Austrian for what he really was - a foul-smelling little despot..."

"TRACKS!" Andrei bellowed, following them with his eyes in instants. Kurti meets cow. Has a free drink (spume on the grass). Both lie down for a rest. Cow's owner (either a man on a horse or a Centaur, belike the latter) arrives, he and Kurti scare the heck out of each other. Cow's owner follows Kurti for a little while, Kurti's tracks vanish, and the cow and her owner continue on.  
There was no sign of a struggle, but with a little cheeseweight like Kurti, there didn't have to be.  
The scream that came from his throat surprised the hell out of everyone. Especially Andrei. The only thing he knew was that he had to follow those tracks to its owner and rescue his lifelong friend.  
All Heirelgart could really do was follow.  
Later, they all swore, Astrid Wagner almost overtook Werner Guismann before she vaulted onto his back and started screaming in his ear to hurry the hell up.

"Wow," Kurti whispered. "You're *really* *THE* Black Major! My Opa told me about you. You knocked down a whole sentry tower and set his camp free. *Then* you lead a resistance movement against the troops wanting to catch the rest of the mythic-folk and put 'em in *more* camps."  
Stinz was frankly astonished that the boy was still awake. Usually, his war stories put everyone to sleep. Except Bruna, who seemed to be immune. Maybe she'd built up a resistance over the years...  
"Well," he allowed. "I only busted up one of the tower's feet. It was full of woodworm. But the fight that happened *after* that was something worth telling about." He lit his pipe and prepared to waltz down Memory Lane.  
Kurti pinched his nose against the pipe's smell.  
"Oops," Stinz laughed. He extinguished the pipe. "I forget how you little ones hate the smell of my old pipe. Na... As I recall, my commanding officer had just told me to help exterminate those poor Romani, or join them, since me and my kind were next, anyway. So, of course, I decided to make myself a third option and kicked the dummkopf straight over his own camp's fence."  
Kurti laughed.  
"Good *gracious* what a racket," Bruna peeked out of a window. "Who's killing *who* out there, and why-- Oh *God*!"  
Stinz levered himself up and had a look. "*Jesus*! That's gotta be a vengeful Mama..."  
And Bruna scooped up Kurti and ran outside shouting, "He's fine! He's fine! We haven't touched a hair on his head! He's *fine*!" Lest the outraged mob following the vengeful Mama in question got half a chance of tearing Stinz's farm apart after *she'd* had a go.  
The Centaur - or to use the old slur, Kentaur - carrying her put on the brakes, but the woman riding him just vaulted over his shoulders and somersaulted to a halt just before she could crash into Bruna.  
"*KURTI*!" And the vengeful Mama fell to weeping with relief. Hugging her adopted son close.  
She was about five months pregnant.  
_Good *God*, but these Gypsies guard their own..._ Stinz recovered enough sense to shut his open jaw and join his wife's side for the end of the drama.  
Kurti was crying, too. More because he'd upset his Mama than out of any realisation that he was in any trouble, or could have been in any danger.  
"Mama, don't," he was saying. "You'll hurt the little baby."  
All his Mama could say was, "Oh, Kurti..." over and over again.  
"Mrs Wagner, I presume," said Stinz. "My Lady, thou and thy tribe are more than welcome to camp on my lands. Any time."  
"How did you--?" asked a man who carried two small girls. The elder of the nearly-identical sisters had Mrs Wagner's colouring. Her younger sister had the man's.  
"The young boy, here," Stinz indicated the lad who was also hugging the stuffing out of Kurti. He was as gold as a new Mark coin from head to toe. Even his feathers had a yellowish tint. "Some of thy people just can't hide. Have no fear, Herr Wagner. I'm sympathetic to thee."  
"Mama! Papa! This is *THE* Black Major!" Kurti announced. "He's the one who busted Opa free!"  
Mrs Wagner looked at him in awe. "Sir," she said. "I owe you my life."  
Stinz tried not to wince. He was a War Hero all over again. _Heaven save me from an adoring public..._  
Meanwhile, the Gypsy tribe was discussing cutting a road from Heirelgart to the Geiselthal and adding the valley to their summer tour.  
"Of course; *Thou*, sir, and any of thy family, will never have to pay admission," said a slightly-flustered looking official.  
"That'll suit thy cheapskate soul, won't it, Stinz?" smirked Bruna.  
"And thine as well, love," he needled right back.


	13. Saint Ulric's School For Boys

::Chapter:_:Thirteen: Saint Ulric's School For Boys

Kurti readjusted his hood and hid his hands in his pockets. This place, this forbidding dark keep, was the furthest he'd ever been from Heirelgart. Everywhere he looked, there were outsiders. People who had never even looked at the unusual, let alone accepted it.  
He knew what would happen the minute he showed his face, so he hid in the copious coat he'd asked Mama to make for him.  
As a new student with special needs, he and his parents were being taken to the offices of Father Abbot, the man who ran both the boarding school and the monastery. Kurti was dreading the entire experience.  
Father Abbot, from the peek Kurti managed to sneak, looked like a kindly old man with far too many worries. And a lot of paperwork. Kurti's fingers itched to sort out the perilous piles of paper, but he kept them in his pockets.  
"Ah. Herr and Frau Wagner with young Kurti," said Father Abbot. "Does he have his uniform yet? Or was that part of the trouble?"  
"I have my uniform," Kurti murmured. "It's underneath."  
Mama gave him a little hug. "Our Kurti's a little - unusual," she allowed. "He's a bit of a shock to the unprepared."  
"I scare people, Mama," he said. He'd watched Mama's hair turn greyer with every stranger that yelped at him. Of course, she dyed it for the  
summer, but it was still grey. *He'd* done that.  
"He's - different, is he?" Father Abbot sounded only vaguely curious. "How different is different?"  
Kurti looked up at him, knowing that his luminous eyes would shine out from the shadows of his hood. "*Very* different."  
Father Abbot sighed. "I went through this with the Whisp family. Come on, lad. Let's see how different different is, ne?"  
Kurti bit his lip, stood up, and took off his coat. The matter about what Whisps were would wait.  
"...a little blue devil," said Father Abbot in awe. Then he smiled. "I happen to think you're a remarkable young man. Do you always wear your cross so prominently?"  
Kurti smiled nervously, and fiddled with it. "I found it helps."  
"I must warn you," said Father Abbot, "that some of the Monks and Nuns here will be a little less open-minded about you. I'll help you get introduced. Later. Right now, I need a few details from your Mama and Papa about what you need while you stay here."

It had been the usual traumatic goodbye. Father Abbot was well used to comforting some red-faced and emotional young lad as a direct result of being away from home for the very first time. In this case, the emotional young lad was a slightly darker blue about the cheeks and holding up rather well.  
"Ready to meet your tutors, Kurt?"  
Kurt sighed. "Not really, but - I can handle it."  
Handle it, he did. Father Abbot rounded up each Monk or Nun in turn and had to watch as his teachers reacted and Kurt stoically put up with whatever they threw at him.  
In the case of Sister Holy Innocents, that was an entire ewer's worth of holy water.  
Kurt just stood there in his little 'sailor suit' uniform and dripped. After a minute or two, he sneezed and begged her pardon.  
"Hmp," Sister Holy Innocents grunted. "Guess he's no more of a devil than the *other* little terrors who go here."  
"Can I have a towel?" asked Kurt. "I don't want to make a mess on the floor."  
Father Abbot had a few handy. There were, after all, accidents that happened, even with the older boys.  
Brother Ignatious, as the director of Music Studies, was only interested in the lad's vocal capacities, and could care less about his physical appearance.  
The rest greeted him with a mixture of prayer and screams, which eventually placed Kurt back into his concealing coat for his meeting with Sister Holy Rosary.  
Sister Holy Rosary was, in the humble opinion of the Mother Superior, a bit wet. The boys, on the other hand, nicknamed her Sister Sunshine for her ability to find a silver lining to *any* situation. She carried a guitar with her everywhere and believed incessantly that all children had the ability to grow beyond their own boundaries.  
Father Abbot was also starting to believe she was a bit wet.  
"And last, but not least, Kurt... This is Sister Holy Rosary."  
"Aaawww," she cooed. "A *shy* boy. There's no need to be scared of me, Kurti. Can I call you Kurti?"  
Kurt just shrugged and hung his head.  
"Now come on," Sister Holy Rosary soothed. "You don't need to *hide* your beautiful smile. Why *I* bet you have the best smile in the whole school. How about it?"  
Kurt shook his head.  
"Kurt's a little different," Father Abbot warned.  
Sister Holy Rosary smiled. "Like that darling little Whisp boy, Rainer Kersch? Oh, *lovely*! I do *so* like it when there's new mythic-folk. They're all so beautiful..."  
"I'm not," Kurt murmured, hanging his head.  
She laughed a little at that. "Everyone's beautiful in the eyes of the Lord," Sister Holy Rosary put her guitar down and knelt so that she was roughly in Kurt's eyeline. "Now... you can let me see how beautiful you are, can't you?" Her hands went to his hood. "Show me your lovely smi-- *OH*!" She fell backwards and scooted a little away. "Oh *dear*!"  
Kurt bit his lip, eyes shut tight against errant tears. Eventually, he sighed out, "I'm sorry."  
"I should be sorry," she said. "I should have seen you with better eyes. I *certainly* shouldn't have been afraid. You're just a boy, like *all* the other boys here."  
"There's no-one like me," Kurt sounded utterly defeated.  
"Not on the outside, anyway," Sister Holy Rosary recovered her previous position in front of him. "Can we try again?" she said. "All boys call me Sister Sunshine," and offered her hand.  
Kurt took it. "Kurti Wagner."  
"Oh, dear, you're all wet..." she observed.  
_That makes two of you,_ Father Abbot thought, a little uncharitably.

Kurti stood next to a very pale blond boy who also happened to have a tail. He, too, looked slightly upset to be standing in front of every boy in St. Ulric's. Kurti reasoned that this must be Rainer Kersch, the famous Whisp boy.  
"So what are your people called?" whispered Rainer.  
Kurti shrugged. "Dunno. I was adopted."  
Father Abbot cleared his throat. "When you're *quite* done, staring," he warned. "These are two of our new students. You've no doubt noticed that they're neither Centaurs nor what we consider 'normal' human beings. Rainer Kersch and Kurt Wagner are still boys, and students here in this school. In that aspect, they are just like you and are to be treated like any other student here in this school. And believe me, I *will* find out about any seperatism and singling them out for alleged pranks." He paused to glare at two grinning members of the audience. Twin boys with red hair. "As the Katzenjammer boys have discovered already, there has been a natural enforcement against *tail*-pulling. Right Hans?" The one with the black eye grinned. "The same rule applies, but if I hear about certain new tails being yanked, you will consider *me* the *other* natural enforcement. Likewise, there shall be no kicking, biting, fighting or other roughhousing during your stay. We're all civilised beings, so we can sort out our differences in a civilized way. In brief, I only want to see you in my office if you've been examples of model behaviour. Have I made myself understood?"  
There was a dutiful chorus of, "Yes, Father Abbot," in the typical monotone of schoolchildren everywhere.  
"Good. You two can join your age-mates in the first row."  
Kurti all-but leaped off the stage. He had to be forcibly restrained from chatting to Andrei, owing to the fact that the first-years were sorted alphabetically. Therefore, Kurti wound up in the midst of a gaggle of other Kurt Wagners who were all strangers.  
Once again, he was the centre of attention.  
"Hst!" One of the other Kurts hissed, "Where's your shoes?"  
"Can't wear them," Kurti hissed back. "My feet are difficult to fit."  
A Kurt in a store-bought uniform sniggered. "So you really *are* a barefoot mountain boy..."  
"Everyone's from the mountains," Kurti whispered. "Unless you're a low-grounder, or city-folk..."  
The rest rallied around Kurti, since they were also mountain-born.  
"Yeah," whispered a third Kurt. "You a *city*-boy?"  
"Uh..."  
"Hey, come on," Kurti whispered. "No singling out, remember? That's bad news."  
"My parents *do* have land in the mountains," allowed the former snob. "Does that count? I can't help it if they're rich," he murmured.  
"None of us can help who we are," soothed Kurti.  
"Hssshh!" a second-year behind them hissed. "You don't want the Holy Terror to get you."  
Kurti wisely shut his mouth. Every Catholic school had a Holy Terror. If one was truly unlucky, there'd be two of them.

The rest of the day was mostly orientation. Despite the rule against singling folk out, the numerous Kurts had to get by on nicknames. Thus, there was City, Blue (guess who), Four (a Centaur), Big, Little, Red, White, Lefty, and Dark Kurt Wagners. Nine dorms and nine classes each got a Kurt Wagner to ease up on confusion. The Whisp boy was in a different wing to Kurti, since *his* last name began with a K.  
Kurti thought it a pity. He wanted to swap rude questions with him.  
Still, he got plenty enough rude questions from the boys sharing his dorm room.  
"Do you always walk like that?"  
"I don't know any other way to walk," said Kurti. "It *hurts* if I put my ankles down."  
"So how do you count to twenty?"  
"In my head."  
"When are you gonna grow horns?"  
"I pray it'll never happen," said Kurti, meaning every word. Horns were amongst his worst nightmares.  
"Can you lift weights with that thing? The tail."  
"It comes in handy, sometimes," Kurti admitted. "But it's best at handling lighter objects."  
"*Coool*..." his audience murmured. One added. "I heard the Whisp boy's tail's only good for swatting *flies*."  
"Haha, cow-tail," laughed another.  
"Does that fur go *all* over?"  
"That is a secret for my immediate family, my doctor, and my best-beloved, whoever she may be," said Kurti. "The rest of the world really shouldn't be looking."  
"Do you groom it?"  
"I brush once a day."  
"Do you *shed*?"  
"I brush so that I don't."  
"Do you get a winter coat?"  
"I do, but it isn't very noticable."  
"How do you wipe?"  
"Now that's just getting personal. And disgusting."  
And on it went, until one of the numerous Monks, now blase to the unusual, took them down to the music hall to audition. In order to get into the school's music program, one had to accurately sing the scales and read a piece of music, though the latter wasn't strictly necessary if your voice passed muster.  
Kurti surprised just about everyone by being a perfect, clear soprano. For the rest of the day, he had to put up with, "Face of a devil, but the voice of an Angel."  
At least Sister Holy Innocents didn't say it. Instead, she mortified him further by saying, "Well. We've found our _Mabel_ for the school play."  
The rest broke out in sniggering while Kurti winced.  
"Do I have to wear a *dress*?" Kurti asked.  
{Thwap!} His ear stung and Sister Holy Innocents suddenly had a ruler in her hand. "The next words I should hear from *you*, Blue Kurt Wagner, had better be, 'I will be *honoured* to play _Mabel_ in _The Pirates of Penzance_'. Well?" The ruler tapped meaningfully in her palm.  
Kurti sighed. "I-will-be-honoured-to-play-_Mabel_-in-_The-Pirates-of-Penzance_," he recited.  
"Very good," the Holy Terror allowed.  
Maybe he'd gone to Hell and not noticed...


	14. Mrs Nesbit

::Chapter:_:Fourteen: Mrs Nesbit

"Dead," said Magneto, and the picture flopped onto his desk in front of her. "Drowned," another picture. "And left for the elements," a third.  
Raven picked them up and pretended disinterest. He was about three years old in the photograph, but unmistakably her son. "He looks a lot like him." He was eating a cruller that happened to be wider than his head with every sign of enjoyment.  
"He *is* him, Mystique," Magneto rumbled. "The odds against a mutant like this being born to a normal family are astronomical in the first place. The odds against him being born almost exactly like your son are simply *so* large that they're not odds at all."  
Raven remained impassive. "You'll not go near him again," she said.  
"You lied to me," said Magneto. "He could have been my greatest triumph, and you took that from me."  
"You took my son," she argued. "And you won't take him again."  
"You *dare* give me orders?" Magneto raised an eyebrow. Metal objects around him danced. The chair Raven sat on began to twitch. "You owe your allegiance to *me*, not the other way around. I can squash you like an insect."  
"But you don't," said Mystique. "Because I'm useful to you. I can go anywhere. My son would stick out like a sore thumb. He is no use to you."  
"*Now*, he's no use to me. You know about my experiments with young mutants that have proven successful."  
"Yes. So successful you had to throw your daughter into an asylum, and give your son to another family," Mystique purred. "Cross me, and I can hurt them beyond any imagining."  
Magneto kept his poker face on. "Now, now, Mystique," he soothed. "There's no need for threats. We can come up with a - more suitable arrangement."  
"I'm listening."  
"What would you give," said Magneto, "for one day with your son?"

Kurti was scared. Whenever Herr Weiss said he had someone for Kurti to meet, it was always bad news. The people Herr Weiss wanted him to meet were - well - kind-of sick.  
It was the only way Kurti could describe it. These people saw a little demon and expected him to act like one when they got him to themselves, and wanted him to do disgusting things with them. They had to have caught something that made them sick in the mind, to want to do things like that with - or to - a child.  
Most of them got upset when he inevitably wound up crying for his Mama.  
The worst thing was that they looked normal, everyday people on the outside. He would probably ask them for directions if he ever encountered them on the street.  
Kurti went silent and limp over Herr Weiss' shoulder. Struggling got him hit. Complaining got him hit. Talking - well, just about anything except doing exactly what they wanted - got him hit.  
"Here he is, Frau," the man juggled Kurti in his arms. "The blue wonder. Die Fleidertuefel. Yours for a mere five hundred marks a night."  
He was talking to her in English. Not that it mattered. Kurti spoke several languages. Some of which were actually useful in the world Outside.   
"Does he have a name?" the rich lady - they were mostly rich ladies - reached out and petted his fur.  
"His parents call him Kurt, but he'll answer to anything, won't you, Herr Flockig?"  
Kurti sighed. "Jawohl, mein Herr." He could be thankful it wasn't a rich man. They sometimes hurt him. As long as the marks didn't show, his price remained unchanged. It cost a lot to come up with an excuse for marks.  
The lady took him into her arms. She actually held him as if he were a child, and not a bag of chaff. She focussed on his face and watched his eyes. "Do you speak English, Kurt?"  
"Ja," he said, and added, "I do speak some English." _Careful. Play dumb. They like dumb._  
She kissed him on the forehead and asked, "How much for twenty-four hours?"  
Herr Weiss didn't even pause. "That's a thousand marks. Up front."  
_This is *weird*..._ Kurti watched as she took out the money and handed it over. Herr Weiss was treating him like a thing. Kurti was used to that. But the lady was treating him like a person. It was like walking on shaky ground.  
He didn't know what she wanted from him.  
She took him away from the troupe, towards an expensive car. There was a child seat in the back, which she buckled him into.  
They'd all just let him roam around the back, before.  
"Comfortable?" she asked.  
Kurti put his tail along his right leg. "Ja. I'm okay..." He was nervous. He knew it, but he was sure that the lady wouldn't know what his tail wrapping around things would mean.  
"My name is Mrs Nesbit," she said. "Did they tell you why I wanted you?"  
Kurti shook his head.  
"I suppose they have the same story, but mine's true. I had a little boy once. He was a lot like you. I - lost him. Soon after he was born." A tear trailed down her face. "I still miss him."  
The car started, and drove away from the carnival grounds. Kurti didn't watch the troupe fade into the scenery, this time. This time, he was fascinated by Mrs Nesbit.  
"He would have been six years old," she said. "I've been looking that long, for another special little boy. Just to hold him. Treat him as my son. Just for one day."  
Kurti thought about his birth mother. The mother who'd put him on the Wagner's back doorstep about six years ago, and knocked, and ran away, into the unknown. Did she miss him? Did she know where he was? Did she blow a kiss out a window every night for God to take to him, like he did for her? Was she even looking?  
"Did he have a name?" Kurti asked.  
Mrs Nesbit seemed surprised that he spoke. "I - he was too young. I hadn't come up with a name that fit him." She hid her face in her hands, and cried.  
"I'm sorry, Frau. I didn't mean to make you cry..." emboldened, he reached out and patted her arm.  
"I'd been thinking of Michael," she said, chasing water from her eyes. "But - Michael wasn't *right*."  
"I'm adopted," Kurti blurted. "I don't know who my real mother is. Maybe - maybe I could pretend like *you're* my mother?"  
She smiled. "Would you? Just for one day?"  
"Ja, I would. You seem real nice and everything. Er. What do I call you, Frau?"  
"Just 'Mom' will do."  
"Mowm," he said, trying to get the American accent right.  
"Mom," she corrected, laughing.  
"Mowm," Kurti giggled. It turned into a game.

Mrs Nesbit - Mom for short - lived in a huge confection of a castle that all Kurti's favourite fairytale characters would have been happy to live in. Her one servant, a man called Erik who had white hair and an impressive physique, followed her orders with a raised eyebrow and an  
ironic smile.  
The place was enormous, but empty.  
Mom showed him the playroom - a huge place filled with every toy Kurti could have dreamed. All put aside for a dead son. In a way, it was really sad, but Kurti understood that Mom needed a happy day, today; so he leaped into the room with a gleesome cry and tried everything out.  
She played with him, and wound up spending a lot of time just touching him, just like Mama did when she'd missed him.  
There were lots of cuddles.  
At lunchtime, Kurti was treated to all the food he could eat. Everything he liked and a few American delicacies as well. He especially liked the 'hoagies' and the 'brownies' the best, and crammed himself so full that he had to lie down for a whole hour.  
Mom curled up next to him and read him fairy tales and gently cuddled him, occasionally fixing his hair with a delicate touch.  
After lunch, he taught her a little tumbling on the trampoline, and showed off his act on a wire that Erik strung across the playroom. Mom eventually got around to laughing, instead of worrying about him, when he demonstrated how he could cling to the wire - upside-down - by his toes.  
"Don't worry, Mom," he chirped, walking the wire in his special, inverted way. "Me an' gravity got a special deal. I can stick to just 'bout anything."  
Erik was looking at him funny.  
"Watch how I get back up," Kurti said, and started to swing. At a certain point, he let go with his toes, turned about, and caught it with his hands. Then, he simply pulled himself up and walked the wire as anyone else would.  
Mom applauded and cheered. Erik continued to stare for a while before he joined in.  
There was a game of chase, before dinnertime, where Kurti gambolled about and Mom and Erik labored to keep up. Kurti showed off, tumbling and leaping about as he laughed out, "Can't catch me"s at them. And they couldn't catch him. He was faster than them and, thanks to his spring-loaded legs, could easily leap twice their height.  
Finally, he let Mom catch him and tickle him into submission, finishing with a hug that he wished he could share with his real mother. If only for one day.  
Dinner was as big a feast as lunch, full of American Thanksgiving treats like Turkey and Pumpkin Pie and Clam Chowder.  
His stomach pleasantly full, Kurti let Mom bathe him and brush him, then dress him for bed. She told him stories until he couldn't keep his eyes open any more, and he slept.

Kurti woke late, well past dawn, and hurriedly dressed. He only had a few more hours to share with Mom and he wanted to make them the best. Erik found him wandering the halls and took him down to the kitchen, where a sleep-rumpled Mom yawned over coffee and pancakes - flapjacks to her fellow Americans.  
"Did you have a good day, yesterday?" Mom asked.  
"It was the *best*, Mom," Kurti gave her a hug. "I'll remember it for the rest of my life, I swear."  
Erik offered waffles, scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns, cereal sausages and toast.  
Kurti, of course, had a generous sampler and couldn't help purring at his third slightly-overfull tummy in as many meals. Mama's cooking was just as nice - maybe more so - but there were times when things were thin and Kurti had to go a little bit hungry or fill up on water. It was because of the thin times that Kurti had originally agreed to see the people that Herr Weiss wanted him to meet.  
He didn't really see an end to meeting Herr Weiss' 'friends', short of something nasty happening to Herr Weiss; and just kept quiet about the people and what they wanted.  
Kurti chased those thoughts out of his head. Today was for happy times. Mom needed the happy times. They'd fortify her when he had to go back home and she was left alone in this huge and empty place.  
With that thought in mind, he scootched his chair close to hers and leaned on her.  
Mom sighed and laid her arm around his shoulder.  
"Tell me, Kurt," said Erik. "How long have you been able to jump around like that and stick to walls?"  
"Erik," Mom warned. "Don't be rude."  
"I don't mind," said Kurti. "That's not nearly as rude as being asked where I do and don't have fur."  
"Well..." Mom allowed. "As long as *you're* okay with it, I guess..."  
Kurti smiled. "I started as soon as I could," said Kurti. "Mama says I used to crawl around on the *ceiling* if I was allowed to get out of my playpen. She says I was better at escaping than Onkel Wolf. As for jumping - as soon as I learned to, I could go *really* high. It scared Mama a lot."  
"Hmmm..." said Erik, and wandered off, frowning and mumbling to himself.  
"Don't mind Erik," said Mom. "He's gotten a little eccentric, lately. He's full of these little quirks."  
Breakfast done with, Kurti washed and brushed again, with Mom's help, and launched straight into a last few hours' play once he was properly dressed.  
Time, however, wasn't on their side, and too soon, the toys had to be put back where they came from.  
Finally, Mom sat on a chair and placed Kurti on her lap. For a photo to remember him by.  
Kurti made his best smile for the camera, and Erik got him to watch a squeaky puppet. There was some other noise behind him, but before he could look, the flash popped and blinded him.  
Kurti blinked away the light's shadow from his eyes as Erik tidied the camera away and Mom gave him a few more cuddles and kisses while they waited for the car to be ready.  
Once again, he was strapped into a safety seat. Mom was sad, but it was more a wistful sadness, and she kept petting Kurti's arm. He let her, since she obviously needed to do it.  
When they returned to the circus grounds, Mom pressed a little object into his palm. "This is for you, Kurti, dear. It'll help keep you safe."  
Kurti gave her one last hug. "Thank you, Mom."  
"Goodbye," she whispered.  
Erik helped him out of the car and shooed him on his way.  
Kurti looked at his gift. It was a medallion of Saint Benedict of Narsia. He'd keep it with the rest of his valued treasures.  
Then he remembered. He had a Mama and Papa who were waiting for him, and his sisters and his friends and aunts and uncles and - in brief - his whole tribe.  
Kurti ran towards the trailers and wagons. Towards his home.

Inside the rented limousine, Raven reverted back to her true shape and clutched a locket to her chest. Inside it was a single lock of her son's hair. She wouldn't wear it. She couldn't. If she had to shapeshift into a small animal, it would be lost.  
Raven couldn't afford to lose such a valuable artifact.  
That and the photograph would be all the physical evidence that she could ever have that she'd spent one special day with her equally special son.  
Erik drove her back to the castle. To the toys she'd have to sell on, now that there was no-one to play with them. "Manifestation of mutant abilities during infant development," he said. "Amazing. Simply amazing. And to think - I had nothing to do with it... He would have made a *fantastic* subject."  
"We had a deal," she hissed.  
"Yes," said Erik. "I keep my hands off him - and so do you."  
"I know," Raven's voice turned dead and she clasped the tiny locket to her heart. "I know."


	15. First Communion

::Chapter:_:Fifteen: First Communion

In a world made for five fingers, some things were almost impossible with only three. Like keyboards. Oddly enough, he had no problem with his bow tie, while others with five fingers would curse up a storm at the things.  
Kurti smoothed his clothes over and critically examined himself in the mirror. White was traditional wear for first communion, true, but one was also allowed to spruce it up with a touch of pale colour.  
He'd worked hard all over Heirelgart and amongst the troupe for a year, trading on good marks in school for monetary rewards, in order to get the money to buy the yellow satin for his waistcoat. Mama found some white mother-of-pearl buttons for it that set it off just fine. What with that and the matching bow-tie (made from offcuts), Kurti fancied he looked quite grown up.  
He'd slicked his indigo hair back with Papa's bryl cream, and smoothed his fur over three times so that it shone. He'd even worked with Frau Schumaker for the footwear, so that he'd be like every other child his age seeking First Communion, today.  
Andrei was doubtlessly buffing up his first shoes to a mirror-like shine as *he* got ready.  
Mama was behind him. "Yes, love. You're beautiful."  
Kurti smiled. "You don't think the ribbon on my tail is too much?" he asked, showing off the little white bow that adorned its spaded tip.  
"No, love. You look perfect. My little angel."  
Kurti grinned at that.  
Papa came in, laden with daughters. Erika, the youngest, sat astride his neck, while Anja and Katja each monopolised a leg. All three were squealing in delight. "Are we (oof!) all ready to go, yet?"  
Kurti trotted to the door. "Ready, Papa!"  
"Come on, darlings, no more free rides. You gotta walk on your own."  
"Aaaaaawwww.... but *Papa*..." was the chorus from the trio of small girls.  
Nevertheless, they somehow managed to make their way to the village church, where all the other faithful were gathered.  
Jimaine looked like a miniature bride, resplendant in white chiffon and a crown of flowers in her strawberry-blonde hair. Her twin brother Stefan, however, looked a little bit grumpy to be stuffed in a white formal suit.  
"My *feet* hurt," he complained.  
"You shouldn't have jumped all the way to church, then," said Frau Szardos.  
Kurti laughed at him. "Can't think ahead! Silly Stefan!"  
"You'll be laughing on the other side of your face before sunset," said Stefan. "You'll see."  
"What? You're gonna fight with me?" Kurti asked.  
"No. I just meant you won't be happy," he said, sounding confused. He held his head for a moment and sighed. "Sorry, 'brother'. I don't know *where* that came from..."  
Almost hidden behind her flowers and veil, Jimaine smirked.  
"Hey, I don't mind. As long as you don't wanna ruin this *vest*. It took me a lot of work to get it."  
"Just *you*?" said Mama.  
"And Mama, of course," Kurti grinned. "But she was kinda just showing me what to do and how to sew."  
"How to *sew*?" Stefan screwed up his face. "Isn't that a girly thing?"  
"It's a survival thing," defended Kurti. "You never know what you might need."  
Stefan murmured in doubt, but further debate was cut short by the arrival of the third Impossible Brother, Andrei. He was stepping high so that his new shoes caught the sun.  
"Puff yourself up any further and you'll pop a seam," Stefan joked.  
"Shows what you know about my Mama's sewing," said Andrei. He wore a vest, too, and a matching bow tie in powder blue.  
"Ooooh, nice," said Kurti.  
"Yeah, I thought I'd better get something that your shed fur wouldn't show too badly on."  
"Funny, that's what *I* was thinking," said Kurti, elbowing his Centaur friend in the ribs.  
They laughed at that, and their respective families ushered them into church.  
Father Heigl was a kindly old man and not much to moving around, especially in the winter, when his bones troubled him. He'd been part of the Church forever, and a surrogate grandfather to every kid in the village. Therefore, Kurti was surprised to see a second, younger figure at the altar.  
"Who's that?" Kurti whispered.  
Papa just shrugged. Frau Szardos, in the pew behind, murmured, "He's trouble." Her pronouncement caused a ripple of whispers throughout the whole Church.  
Trouble? How could such a nice-looking man be *trouble*?  
Then Kurti remembered the *other* nice-looking people that Herr Weiss knew and swallowed nervously. He was a beat behind the rest of the congregation at sitting down, and he saw the new man startle, then pretend everything was normal.  
"Well, my bretheren," said Father Heigl. "Owing to a slight miscommunication about dates, we have something of a pleasant surprise for you, today. I would like to introduce to you, Father Gottfreid, who will be taking over from me, one day. I know, I know, I vowed to work this Church until the Lord Himself decides to take me to his bosom, but I'm not as young as I used to be, and frankly, I need to take things easier. So, by way of introduction, Father Gottfreid will be leading today's services." And the old minister, the man who'd baptised Kurti, took a seat.  
Father Gottfreid took the stand and leaned on the podium. "When I asked for my assignment in the Church," he began, "I asked to go into strangeness, to see the unfamilliar and the untamed wilderness, to work with the savage and the strange. I had thought, when they gave me tickets and directions to Heirelgart, that I would have to *wait* for my posting in a strange new land. Little did I know that they were sending me exactly where I wanted to go."  
Whispers broke out amongst the congregation.  
"I wanted to go far afield to fight sin and corruption," Father Gottfreid continued. "To convert the Godless heathen into the ways of the Church. I have no doubt that I will have that work here."  
Now they were murmurs.  
"The Devil is an insideous beast," he said. "For he sneaks into your hearts and minds and corrupts you against the word of the Lord. 'Thou shalt not lie with the beasts of the field', 'Thou shalt not permit a witch to live', and even though it is not written, thou certainly shalt not permit a demon into your home."  
Papa's hand tightened on Kurti's shoulder.  
Kurti whispered, "But I'm *not* a--"  
"Shhh..."  
Kurti could feel waves of anger eminating from the Centaur population. One really good way to irritate them was to compare them with animals, especially if you speculated on their origins as well. They always said that God made them just like He made Adam and Eve.  
Father Gottfreid spoke on. "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's goods, yet I heard outside this house of God, children's voices comparing the cut of their clothes. Avarice, Greed, and Sin live here. The curse of God clearly rests heavily on some--"  
The Jarelmanns each folded both sets of their arms.  
"--and none of you see it as a curse. You go out and *exhibit* yourselves for money. Like Godless, thieving Gypsies!"  
The temperature dropped sharply.  
"All this town needs is a *whore* to make it a completely new Gomorra. You should be ashamed of yourselves! You think you can follow the practices of the Church, and call yourselves christians, when the minute you step out of Church you become steeped in *Sin*."  
Father Heigl was weeping as he watched Father Gottfreid, his frail old body wracked with grief.  
"Repent, and you will be forgiven. Cast out the unholy, and you can redeem yourselves. Turn you eyes towards God, and he *will* make you see!" Father Gottfreid raised his arms as if he expected applause.  
The congregation sat on their hands.  
"That's more than enough," said Father Heigl. "You've just alienated the entire village with your little speech."  
Father Gottfreid was colder than the air temperature. "So which one is the whore?"  
Kurti had gone almost numb. But not numb enough to fail to notice Mama and Papa gathering their things and his sisters. "Mama, Papa, *no*," Kurti hissed. "What about my First Communion? I wanna be recognised by God." He *needed* to confess his sins and make his soul clean.  
Papa sighed. "Kurti-love... I don't think you'll get it from that man."  
"I still wanna try," he said. "It's a special day. I wanna go through with it. I - I *need* to."  
And Papa hugged him and kissed him and whispered, "God bless you, lad."  
Behind him and around him, other children were protesting their parent's departure. Stefan and Jimaine. Andrei. Little Jorgi. Tanja and Heike. All of them wanted to have their First Communion. Their parents were trapped from escape by simple childish want.  
The rest, untethered by their progeny, stood, bowed to Father Heigl, cut Father Gottfreid dead, and marched out of the church.  
Father Heigl took the podium back, albeit rather focibly, and told the remaining congregation about the three men who went to worship, and which prayer gained which man entry to heaven.  
"...and the third man just knelt at the altar and said, 'Lord, forgive this sinner', and *he* was the one to enter the gates of heaven. We are *all* the sinners before the Lord. Man is corrupt, but by following His word, we can hope for salvation."  
He lead them in song and prayer, and Kurti threw his heart into it, trying to mean every word that escaped his lips in order to make up for the missing congregation. But all the time, he felt Father Gottfreid's glare boring into him.  
Then it was time to queue with the others and confess for the first time in his life. Kurti hung back at the end of the line because he knew he had a lot to confess. He didn't want to hold anyone else up because of his sins. His heart raced as he approached the box, dreading what would happen, because Father Heigl was outside of it.  
Still, he knew what he had to do, and he had to do it. For the good of his soul. Once God recognised him, maybe he could finally have his dearest prayer answered, and not scare people any more.  
At last, it was his time to enter, and he crept into the darkness. He felt almost comfortable again. The dark had always been friendly to him, hiding him from bad people.  
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," Kurti recited, "This is my first confession. In my life, I --" his head suddenly emptied. "-- I... um... I don't know where to start..."  
"Start with the commandments you've broken," said Father Gottfreid in a bored voice.  
Kurti sighed with relief. "Okay. Um. Let's see. Do I have to confess for throwing up on Mama and Papa when I was a baby?"  
"No."  
"Um... When I was three I kind of disobeyed Mama. I climbed up to where she was on the high wire and asked her for cruller and I wouldn't go down when she said 'cause she hadn't told me if I could have it or not. Um. I ran away from home, once, but that was because I didn't want Mama or Papa or the girls to get hurt 'cause of me. Um. I *was* a little bit jealous when Stefan got a new bike for his fifth birthday. Um... I got mad at a Nun once? She hit me 'cause Hans Katzenjammer stood on my tail and I had to yell, and she'd just told everyone to be quiet. Is that bad?"  
"A little," Father Gottfreid allowed.  
"Um. The thing is -um- I feel really bad about something? But I don't think it's against any rules. Um. There's these people. They're sort of sick. They want to do things with me. And they pay--" he paused. He didn't want to make trouble. "--someone money so they can have time with me. Heirelgart and Statleindorf -um- they're poor villages. There isn't really enough ground to grow food on, andum... that's why we have the circus? So we can make money to buy stuff so we can survive the winter. Um. And these sick people? They pay five *hundred* Marks for one night. That's a lot of money... but I feel *really* bad about what they want to do... Mostly, it's just touching, but--" Kurti sniffed. "--it still feels bad..."  
"I should have known *you* were the whore," Father Gottfried hissed. "You couldn't corrupt the good people of this village enough with your presence to get the women to lie with strangers, so you became the whore yourself. Filthy little devil. Who prostitutes you? Your parents?"  
"*No*!" Kurti whispered. "It's someone else. Mama and Papa? They don't know. I never told them. I never told *anyone*."  
"Tell me the name of your *pimp*, demon. Tell me the name of the one you corrupted with your vile presence."  
"Um..." said Kurti. "I don't wanna make trouble. I don't wanna tell on someone. 'Cause. Um. 'Cause... 'cause it's a lot of money that we *need*, and it's just *touching*. Um. And - I don't want us to starve? 'Cause of something I did? But I want it to stop, anyway. I wanna stop feeling so bad..." He sniffed again. "It makes me feel sick, sometimes; what they do. And we need the money, or we'll starve. I don't like being hungry. Nobody does. If everyone found out? They'd blame me."  
"The blame *is* yours, demon," hissed Father Gottfreid. "The *sin* is yours. Even if you prayed each holy prayer a hundred times, you would not cleanse the sin from you. You *are* sin!"  
"How 'bout two hundred?"  
"Get out."  
Kurti was pretty sure that wasn't how it was supposed to go, but he went anyway, kneeling at the altar with his white-garbed compatriots and murmuring prayers.  
Two hundred of each, in his case.  
Good thing he was used to talking... but all the same, his tongue felt like old leather by the time he was done.  
His knees ached and his elbows protested, but he knelt again to receive Holy Communion. It was a small price to pay to get recognised by God.  
He closed his eyes for the eucharist, and heard on his right, "The body of Christ." A pause, and on his left, "The body of Christ."  
Kurti startled. Hadn't Father Gottfreid *seen* him? He stayed where he was and prayed in his mind, because his tongue was weary. The cup came by, borne by Father Heigl, but Kurti whispered, "I haven't got the bread yet."  
Father Heigl nodded and moved on.  
A second time, Kurti readied himself for the eucharist. Again, on his right, "The body of Christ," a pause, and on his left, "The body of Christ."  
And now there were adults either side of him, and Mama gave him a little hug while he waited.  
A third time, Kurti prepared himself. A third time, the eucharist passed him by. This time, though, there was murmuring between both Fathers. Agitated murmuring.  
"No!" Father Gottfreid finally shouted. "I will not welcome that *demon* into the Holy Church!"  
The room temperature dropped some more.  
"For the love of God, he's just a boy," argued Father Heigl. "He's six years old. He only *looks* like that through an accident of birth."  
"More likely his whore of a mother slept with the devil himself," said Gottfreid.  
Father Heigl, who captured mice live and set them free, who had never in living memory harmed another living thing, *slapped* Father Gottfreid. "Judge not," he said. "Lest ye be judged yourself."  
Everyone gasped, shocked that he'd do such a thing. It was like watching a butterfly go on a killing spree.  
"Fine." Father Gottfried continued on as if Kurti wasn't there.  
"Your pardon, sir," said Kurti. "I'm not going to go away because you ignore me."  
"No? We'll see, won't we?" And he finished off the eucharist, thus concluding the ceremony.  
_I can be twice as stubborn as you,_ Kurti thought, and stayed where he was.  
Father Heigl took one look at Kurti and stifled giggles behind his gnarled hands for the rest of the service. The congregation had fallen silent, and some drifted out while Father Gottfreid attempted to lead them in prayer and song.  
Gottfreid soldiered on, regardless, singing hymns a capella.  
Kurti refused to sing until he had his Communion.  
In the end, only the Guismanns, the Wagners, and the Szardoses stayed, each pinned in their place by an Impossible Brother and their determination to see one particular member of the Church take his bread and wine.  
Father Gottfried marched towards the main doors, preparing to greet his congregation as they left.  
He found his way blocked by a Centaur in white and powder blue.  
"Get out of my way, Kentaur," he ordered.  
The temperature dropped so low that it might have snowed inside the Church. Kentaur was a vicious slur against Romani four-feet. So vicious that most Centaurs kicked first and asked questions later. Therefore, it was a minor miracle that all four of Andrei's big feet stayed rooted to the ground.  
"You can't leave," he said. "One of your flock still waits to eat."  
"Let him wait until Hell freezes over," said Gottfreid.  
"Then you're no man of God," said Andrei. "I'd hoof you if I thought it'd do any good, but all it would do is give you another excuse not to finish your work here."  
"And a *child* will see it done?" Gottfreid arched a brow.  
"And his father," said Herr Guismann. He stood tall for a change, showing off both his impressive height *and* bulk. He was one of the circus' strong men, and since his hair-end was most like a Clydesdale, the rest of his body had to stay in proportion. He cracked his knuckles in Gottfreid's face. "Now, I'm not a man of violence," he began, "but I'm fairly certain that you can still serve bread and wine with at *least* one broken arm. Maybe a few ribs or two, ne? And believe me, ribs are hell. You can't set them like ordinary bones. You just gotta let them go. Every time you breathe, it hurts; and you can't lift heavy objects..."  
Gottfried raised his chin. "I am a man of the cloth," he said.  
"True. You wear the robes of a minister," said Herr Guismann. "But no *real* minister would leave a member of his congregation unfed." He calmly walked over to the threshhold of the Church and blocked it with his body. "And since I'm not a violent man, I'll just sit myself here, and if you can get past my son, I'll just toss you back to the Altar. How's that?"  
Gottfreid wisely backed away, and found that the other two exits to the Church were blocked by the other two families.  
Frau Guismann backed up Frau Szardos, and Andrei's elder sister Heidi stood with Mama and Papa.  
Father Heigl was tittering. "You see," he said. "Us mountain folk are very accepting, and very protective of our number. I baptised young Kurti, and he was no more a demon then, or now, than--" a beat, "--the Pope is. He's been baptised several times, I think. Formally and informally, by many, many holy men and women. No *demon* could withstand so much holy water, don't you think?"  
"Maybe it wasn't holy *enough*," said Gottfreid, and he made himself comfortable.  
Kurti rearranged himself so that his knees wouldn't hurt so much.  
The sun crept towards the horizon, and Kurti wasn't very happy at all. He looked to Stefan, who hung his head. His prophecy had come true.  
Erika began to fuss, and Mama had to take her and the girls to Opa and Oma's, and promised to be back with supplies.  
Kurti filled the time with prayer, first formal, then informal, and finishing with a whispered litany of, "Open his eyes, open his heart," over and over again.  
Mama shook him. He'd been dozing. "I have a sandwich for you," she offered.  
"No, Mama," he said. "There's only one meal I want, and I'm gonna get it, or I'm not gonna eat anything at all."  
Mama went pale. "You're sure? You *know* you need to eat."  
"I know," he said, determined. "I need to eat this more."  
"I'll keep it," she said. "In case you change your mind."  
Kurt settled into his habitual crouch. He could stay like that for hours if he needed to.  
Father Heigl read the Bible. Mama began to knit. Frau Szardos and Frau Guismann also bought work out of their respective purses. Jimaine sat cross-legged on the floor and yawned.  
It was a further hour before murmuring was heard outside. Heirelgart, drawn by its curiosity, no doubt surrounded the church and was discussing the scene within.  
Father Gottfreid laid himself out on a pew and tried to go to sleep.  
"We shall over-co-o-o-ome..." sang Papa. "We shall over-co-o-o-ome..."  
The others inside joined in. Even Father Heigl.  
Heireglart heard them and joined in.  
Kurti stayed where he was and prayed for Father Gottfreid.  
After another hour, Gottfreid couldn't stand it. "What is the *matter* with you - you - *people*?"  
The Wagners, Guismanns and Szardoses stopped singing and grinned.  
Father Heigl said, "Us Gypsies, we look after our own. Even the adopted ones."  
"Especially the adopted ones," said Papa.  
Gottfreid went pale. "G-g-g-Gypsies? You're all--?"  
"We're *all* Romani," said Margali. "As well as God-fearing Christians. And freaks. And Sorcerers and sorceresses. We view everything God throws in his path as a gift or a test or both at once. And *you*, sir, are about to be sorely tested. Will you choose to see with your eyes or your heart?"  
Gottfreid folded his arms and clenched his jaw.  
No answer. That meant there was hope.  
Kurti went back to his praying.  
It got dark.  
Heirelgart kept singing. They'd moved on to songs about helping other people, since _We Shall Overcome_ tends to pall after a while. Even to the singers.  
"Mama..." Jimaine whined. "I'm *bored*... Can I go to Oma's?"  
"You'll have to go by yourself," said Frau Szardos. "Because your brother and I are staying right here."  
She moaned to herself and stayed where she was.  
Minutes slipped away with the rest of the natural light. Votive candles lent the Church some thin light. Neighbours bought by casseroles for the beseigers inside - but nothing for Father Gottfreid.  
"If the boy goes hungry," they reasoned, "so do you."  
Father Heigl got blankets for his old bones as well.  
Father Gottfreid shivered where he was and said, "He's a member of your flock, too. Why don't *you* give him Communion?"  
Father Heigl sipped hot chocolate. "I'm an old man," he said. "Not long for this Earth. I must teach you to do everything *I* do, here in Heirelgart. I must teach you to become a *part* of this community, and accept the other parts of it as well. One person is as important as the whole community, because one person can *make* the community."  
Gottfreid fell silent, chewing over the problem.  
Jimaine curled up in Father Heigl's lap for a nap.  
Kurti went back to his mantra. _Open his eyes, open his heart. Open his eyes, open his heart. Open his eyes, open his heart. Open his eyes..._  
_Sing._  
Kurti startled. That voice in his head wasn't his, and didn't belong to anyone he knew. It was calm and gentle, and sure that its command would be obeyed.  
_Sing, Kurti. It will work,_ said the voice.  
Kurti looked up at the image of Jesus on the cross. _Was that you?_  
_Sing._  
He cleared his throat, just in case, and took a deep breath before launching into _Ave Maria_.

Father Gottfreid was tired and hungry and cranky and even *more* inclined to just throw the little blue devil out by the minute. This place was *full* of sinners, and his Church had sent him into a nest of Gypsies. *Gypsies*! The source of sin and vile nature. The spawn of Cain, doomed to forever walk the Earth without a true home.  
How dare they! Spurning Communion and the Word of God, just because he refused to bless a demon. Didn't they see him for what he *was*?  
At the altar, the demon cleared his throat. Was he going to renounce his evil? Or was he going to give up and reveal his true nature?  
A pure voice from heaven sang, "_Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum..._"  
Father Gottfreid gasped. Was this a reward for his steadfastness against evil?  
"_Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus..._"  
Then he noticed that the little demon's mouth was moving. *He* was the source of that heavenly voice...  
"_Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen._" And the demon turned his glowing eyes to the cross as if to say, _Did I do it right?_  
Gottfreid was dumbstruck.  
The little boy took another breath and started again.  
Tears fell from Gottfreid's eyes. How could something from Heaven issue from a body clearly made for Hell?  
Unless...  
He wasn't meant for Hell at all.  
Gottfreid waited for the last note to die. "Father," he said, voice rough from under-use. "Where's the spare wine and wafers?"  
It became the first First Communion at a Midnight Mass, and the waiting village outside swarmed in to take what they'd missed that morning. The singing was joyous and celebratory, the people welcoming and warm.  
His sermon that time was simple, "God forgive me for being a stupid man."


	16. In the Wars (Spots and Dots 1)

::Chapter:_:Sixteen: In The Wars (Spots and Dots 1)

Erika was fussier than usual, and Mama was busy wiping her nose and keeping her by sources of steam, as well as keeping her temperature down with cool cloths.  
Whatever she had, Anja and Katja had it too, and clung to Papa while they coughed and sniffled and blew their noses a lot.  
Kurti sniffed at his runny nose and stifled his umptieth cough. It was probably dust. It was his fault for waiting so long to pack for St Ulric's. If he'd packed his clothes sooner, he wouldn't have to worry about dust.  
But then... he'd never had to worry about it before. Maybe he'd just run across a dusty season or something.  
Kurti coughed again, scrunching up his sore eyes and rubbing at them. Verdammt dust.  
"Kurti? I heard you coughing,"  
"It's probably dust, Mama," he said. "Don't worry about me. You go back to looking after Erika."  
"Kurti! Your eyes..."  
A moment of fear. "What?"  
"Your whites are *red*... blood red." She crossed the distance between the two of them and knelt on the floor. "Let's have a look at you, now. Do you feel hot?"  
"A little," Kurti allowed. "It's a late summer, yes?" He sniffed again and, disgusted with the sound, blew his nose. "Ach..."  
"Come on. Have a drink and sit in front of the fan."  
Kurti murmured with doubt. "But I might get what Katja and Anja have..."  
"I think it's a little late to worry about that," she said, and took him out to the kitchen table.  
The drink was sweet and cool and not as quenching as he thought. But the fan was lovely. "Aaaaahhhh..."  
"Kurti's got a freckle," said Anja, pointing.  
"I don't freckle, I have fur," he denied.  
"Here," Mama put a thermometer in his mouth. "Sit quiet for a while, yes?"  
"*Two* freckles," corrected Katja.  
"Yeah, well you're getting red spotth," Kurti lisped around the thermometer. He was not in a good mood. He didn't feel very well at all.  
Erika was crying, very quietly, as she hugged Skooshy-bear close. Her face was covered in red spots and she kept trying to scrub at her eyes with her wrist.  
"Oh dear," sighed Mama. She was mixing cool drinks and writing a list.  
"Let's have a look at you," said Papa as he sat by Kurti. "I'm going to have to rub you the wrong way, love. Hold still, now."  
"Mmmmm..." Kurti only flinched a little.  
"Yep," sighed Papa. "We all have it."  
"Have wha'?" said Kurti.  
"Measles," he said. Then he took the list from Mama. "I'll 'phone everyone, dear. You look after the kids."  
Mama took the thermometer and read it. "Mmm. Light fever, thank God," she announced, and gave Kurti another drink. "You're not going to school tomorrow, dear. You can't. You'll give everyone the measles."  
"Yeah," said Papa on the 'phone. "Kurti won't be able to come in for a while. Yeah. We all have measles. Yes, we're immunised. I was talking about the kids. Three girls and Kurti. Very funny. Sorry, but I have to go. I need to call a lot of people. Thanks."

It was a miserable, miserable time. Kurti and his sisters spent a majority of the day sprawled on two matresses laid out under the fan's gentle breeze and sipping drinks and moaning a lot.  
Television distracted them from their woes, but only marginally.  
Poor Erika had it worst, because she'd only had one needle against it. The others were barely more fortified, and all miserable.  
None of the girls wanted hugs from Kurti. He was too hot to hold on to for long.  
The worst part, Kurti had to admit, was not being able to see Andrei or Stefan off to school. Not that he particularly wanted to go anywhere, right now, but it was the principal of the thing. He wanted to say goodbye. But he couldn't. One case of measles could multiply into many if it was allowed out. Which meant that *he* wasn't allowed out, either, and was stuck indoors with his moaning sisters.  
Kurti moaned. He felt miserable, too.  
Mama came around with ice cream. "And how are my little polka-dotted people?" she asked.  
"Thanks, Mama," they said to the ice cream.  
Kurti wrapped his arms around Mama's leg and whimpered, "Stay?"  
"Feeling a little unloved, ne?"  
He nodded.  
Mama sat herself on the matress and manouvred Kurti into her lap. "Ach, my poor love..." Her cuddles were nice, and left his arms free so he could eat. "It's a miserable day, isn't it?"  
Kurti nodded. It was a beautiful day outside, and all he wanted to do was lie around and moan.  
"Oh dear," said a voice behind him. "Spots and dots abounding..."  
The chorus of "Opa! Oma!" was muted, but still jubilant.  
Opa settled himself into a comfy chair and Kurti was eager to change laps.  
"Thought we'd give you a break," said Oma, picking up Anja for a cuddle of her own. "Or at least, a few extra arms."  
"But you'll catch the measles," said Katja.  
"No, dear. We've all had our needles. *And* we've had the measles." Oma smiled. "I remember being a very miserable little girl when I had them. I had spots on my face, spots on my belly, spots on my arms and legs, and even spots in my mouth."  
"Oooohh..." said the girls.  
"Did you get 'em on your *tongue*?" said a wide-eyed Katja.  
Kurti finished his ice cream and put the bowl down, then cuddled up to Opa.  
Opa gently brushed him with his hand. "Ach, my poor little blue boy... It's a misery, isn't it?"  
Kurti nodded.  
"Would a nice shine make you feel better?"  
Kurti could only shrug. "Dunno, Opa."  
"Let's see, hm?"

Kurt Meirs smiled down on his grandson as he ran the soft brush gently across his fur. The boy wasn't feeling very well at all, judging by his purr. It was intermittent, and only when he exhaled, instead of the steady, strong, slowly oscillating vibration that usually came out when the lad was pleased.  
Poor boy.  
It never did a body good to see a child in any kind of discomfort, even when it was such a normal discomfort as the measles. You want to do something, anything, to see the happy and bright child that was, just a few days ago.  
Kurti's tail wrapped lazily around his arm as the boy began to drowse, and the elder Kurt went soft just looking at the gesture. He'd been doing that since he was a baby, but every time it happened, Kurt just felt warm all the way through.  
The child was warmer than usual, but Kurt didn't mind. His old bones needed heating, these days. All the same, fever wasn't a very nice thing to experience.  
Kurt wiped a damp cloth over the bristles of his soft brush, and passed it through the fur of Kurti's back. It wet him down without making him drenched, and made his purr turn up a notch when the fan's breeze washed over him.  
It was something like the inspiration that turned him to brushing Kurti's fur in the first place. Deperate times and desperate measures lead to nothing to lose by trying. And the reward for success, Kurti's soft and hypnotic purr, felt to his heart like a wonder of God.  
But then, so did Kurti.  
His little fuzzy Changeling.  
True, nobody in Heirelgart or the surrounding villages knew exactly what Kurti was, despite the whispers of elves above the snowline; but the fact that he was one of the Romani was answer enough for many. It was certainly enough for Kurt.

"I came as soon as I heard," said Father Gottfreid. "Would any of them like a prayer? A little blessing?"  
"I think for the most part, they just want ice cream," said Frau Wagner, letting him in. "But they'll take comfort."  
Four children lay inside, ages two to six, all with the measles, one with fur complicating matters. Kurt the younger sort of lolled across his adoptive grandfather's chest and lap, half conscious and mostly damp.  
He was purring, very softly and unsteadily, quite unlike the thrumming rumble that had heartily issued forth and surprised the living hell out of Gottfreid when he'd given the boy his first Communion.  
Spots were visible through his pelt as dark patches, and were spreading down across his shoulders and spine. Every now and again, he'd cough, blow his nose, or scrub at almost-bruised eyes.  
"Ouch," said Gottfreid. "I heard you were in the wars."  
Kurti smiled. "I knew I was famous," he whispered.  
Gottfreid felt the kid's forehead. "Oof. How can you stand to be so hot?"  
Kurti drowsed for a minute before he shrugged. "Opa's makin' it better a li'l..." He sighed and drowsed again.  
"I checked his temperature this morning," said Frau Wagner. "It was only a light fever." She finished giving drinks to the girls and checked Kurti. "Mama, Johannes? Could one of you run a cool bath? Kurti's temperature's climbing..."  
Gottfreid automatically reached for the damp cloth, and swiped it along the boy's blue fur, careful to go with the grain. He was rewarded with a stronger purr.  
"Odd," said Kurt Meirs. "He usually doesn't like being that wet."  
"He's hot, sir," said Gottfreid. "I think he'll suffer anything that takes that away."  
Kurti murmured a simple, "Thanks," and fell asleep.

It was dark when he woke. Kurti rubbed at his eyes, clearing them of a record amount of sleep-dust before he took stock. Someone had left a night-light on in his room, meaning that worried adults were visiting and watching him sleep.  
He could hear Father Gottfreid outside of his room, carrying on a quiet conversation with Mama and Papa. And, he became increasingly aware, the multitude of drinks he'd had earlier on were seeking revenge for being drunk.  
Kurti staggered out of bed and crept towards the bathroom, bladder aching. In fact, were it not for the wrung-out feeling he had, he'd have raced there. As it was, the wall was a welcome help.  
He sat to pee, mostly because his head was a little spinny and he didn't really trust his legs to hold him up, and sighed as he relieved himself.  
_Ach, I think I might set a world record..._ and he started counting in his head to find out if he could. Unfortunately for his aspirations of world record holding, he finished before he could get to ten. Kurti yawned and finished up, flushing while he threaded his tail through the holes in his underwear and pyjama pants, and then washing and drying his hands.  
There was a group of anxious adults in the hallway when he exited.  
"Hello," he said to Mama, Papa and Father Gottfreid. "I didn't mean to interrupt."  
Mama just picked him up and hugged the stuffing out of him.  
Papa ruffled his hair. "Good to see you up and about, love."  
"You gave us a little scare," said Gottfreid. "You were out of it for most of a day."  
Kurti frowned. He could remember drowsing on Opa's lap in the early afternoon, and then... what happened? All he could remember were vague little flashes. Crawling under his bed because the morning sun was too hot. Baths with a worried Mama or Papa overseeing his every move. Pushing away food. "I missed a whole day?"  
"Pretty much," said Papa. "Doktor Schmidt said you were slowing your metabolism down as a defense against the heat of the fever. You weren't too hot on thinking while that was going on."  
"How do you feel?" said Father Gottfreid.  
"Hungry," answered Kurti.  
And Mama hugged him tighter, if such a thing were possible. "He's going to be all right," she sighed. "He's going to be *fine*."


	17. In the Wars (Spots and Dots 2)

::Chapter:_:Seventeen: In The Wars (Spots and Dots 2)

Kurti ate his breakfast slowly, since his whole body hurt, then he crept to the Medicine Chest and fetched himself a painkiller.  
"Kurti?"  
He finched at the noise. "Mama, *please*," he whispered. "My head hurts."  
Once again, Mama flourished the dreaded thermometer, but Kurti was almost content to sit still. It hurt to move.  
Papa took one look at him and muttered, "Oh, *no*. Not again..."  
"Rubella, this time, I think," said Mama. "He's been moving like a little old man."  
"Oof," said Papa, and felt his forehead. "Only a little warm. I'll try to keep the girls away from him, though."  
"It's probably already too late," sighed Mama.  
"Mama..." whimpered Erika. "I gots owies all over *everywhere*..."  
"Yep. Too late." Mama sighed again. "And we *just* got over the measles."  
"I'll 'phone everyone."

Kurti sipped a drink and picked at his lunch while he and his sisters watched cartoon characters bludgeon each other into insensibility for no real apparent reason. None of them were very inclined to do anything about the ringing 'phone, except plugging their ears.  
Mama got it. "House of Pestillence... No. No. That was a joke. We all have Rubella, now. Oh? *Oh*. Yes. Under the circumstances, that *is* a good idea. Kurti shouldn't have to miss out on his education just because he's too ill to go. Yes. Are you having any trouble with the other Heirelgart boys up there? No? That's good. I was worried they might be carriers. You know how these things get about. I'll get Kurti to write them a few letters, ne? Thank you *very* much. Take care."  
Kurti was curious enough to actually get up and head towards Mama to try and find out what was going on.  
"Good news, fuzzy-love," she said. "You don't have to be held back a year."  
"Huh? How's that supposed to work?"  
Mama smiled. "They're sending your year's work here in the mail. It's too late for you to go to school, so school's going to come to you."  
"And *you'll* grade me on my tests?" Kurti asked, nervous. He didn't like the idea of getting easy grades.  
"No, love. Your tests will have to go back to St Ulric's. Your schoolwork will have to be graded by someone here who's an honest third party... Father Gottfreid would probably like to. He's gaining an interest in village life."  
Kurti sighed. So much for the easy life. He returned to the couch and leaned against the armrest, eyes drifting shut every now and again. Erika cuddled up to him and fell asleep.  
_What a good idea._  
When he woke up, there was music on the TV. Four men in suits, three playing guitar, and one playing drums. They looked like nice young men, and were singing in English.  
"_Baby's good to me, you know/She's happy as can be, you know/She said so. I'm in love with her and I feel fine..._"  
Kurti smiled. It was good music. It was so good, it even made Anja dance. Okay, jump up and down in time to the music. And the Lyrics made him think about his sisters when they were little.  
"_I'm so glad/That she's my little girl. She's so glad/She's tellin' all the world..._"  
Kurti's tail started twitching with the beat. The music went right to his heart, and Erika was sleeping through it. He didn't want to wake her by moving, too much, so he let his tail dance for him.  
Katja got the giggles from watching him.  
There was a set of boring interviews, and then the music men were back. The guitars sang to him.  
"_Something in the way she moves..._"  
_Wow._  
Kurti became more interested in the boring interviews, and thus, found out all about the music men. They called themselves the Beatles, and they changed music forever. They came from Liverpool, but they often performed in Hamburg, Germany. They even sang some of their songs in German. The first band to ever do so.  
When they played _She Liebe Dich_, Kurti was *sold*.  
He knew what he wanted for Christmas.  
Kurti fell asleep through the next set of boring interviews, and dreamed the music as it played. The next time he woke up, for sausages and bread and a lot of sympathy, the Beatles were gone from the TV. In their place were boring people interviewing even more boring people, and when they finally played more music, it was dull and lackluster.  
Stupid grown-up TV.  
At least it wasn't so bad to fall asleep to.


	18. In the Wars (Spots and Dots 3)

::Chapter:_:Eighteen: In The Wars (Spots and Dots 3)

Kurti moaned under his breath. He thought he was *over* Rubella, and he got a relapse, or something.  
"Come on, Kurti," said Father Gottfreid. "Just one more hour."  
Ach. His schoolwork. It was difficult to do when he was tired and achy and feverish, and it was difficult to do now. *And* it felt like he had something biting him.  
Kurti rubbed his back on the headboard, and scrubbed at his chest and stomach with the heel of his hand. "Ah! Owww..." Now the itchy-bites  
*burned*.  
"Kurti..." Father Gottfreid sighed. "Try to concentrate, hm?"  
"But I *itch*," he complained. "And then it burns when I touch it. I think something's biting me..." He lifted his shirt, and found that his fur was seriously awry. It looked - and this was unthinkable - like he hadn't bothered to brush down after towelling himself dry.  
"Ach!" Father Gottfreid said. "*More* spots and dots."  
"Which measles are *these*?" Kurti wondered.  
"Not measles, Kurti. Chicken pox."  
"But I'm *NOT* an animal!"

The scream caught Johannes' attention immediately. The crying made him run. Father Gottfreid, though rapidly and ferverently mending his ways, still remained under the suspicion of his first impression, for which the word 'bad' was an understatement.  
The first thing that crossed Johannes' mind was that the man had reverted to type and hurt Kurti.  
Therefore it was something of a surprise to find Kurti crying on his bed and Gottfreid, shocked and stunned, on the other side of the boy's tiny room.  
"I'm *not* an animal," Kurti protested, between sobs. "Not an animal..."  
"What in the *world*?"  
Father Gottfreid was shaking his head. "I just said he had the Chicken pox and then--" A pillow hit him square in the face.  
"I'M NOT AN ANIMAL!"  
Ah. Johannes settled next to his weeping boy. "Kurti... Kurti... Shhh, now. Ssshhhhh..."  
"...I'm not an animal," Kurti gasped out.  
"Kurti... *Love*... Nobody ever said you were, dear. *Nobody* said you were."  
"...but 'e said I *was*..." Kurti cried into Johannes' shirt.  
"*Love*... The Chickenpox is an ordinary childhood disease. *I* had it."  
Kurti sniffed. "But -- *Chicken* pox..."  
"It's just a word, Kurti. Some words just don't mean *anything*, fuzzy-love. Some people thought the lesions made the skin look like a plucked chicken, that's all."  
Kurti whimpered. "I feel awful," he said.  
Ah, yes. His fur. The poor dear, he never liked having anything in his fur. "I'll get you some calamine lotion, love. That'll help the itch go away. I won't take a minute."  
"No..." whimpered Kurti. "I hit a Father Gottfreid with a pillow."  
_Lord love him..._

"By the way, Father?"  
"Yes?"  
"Your German's still a little shaky. Here, it's called Windpox, not Chicken pox."  
"Ah, my mistake. I translated it directly."  
"It's too late now," sighed Johannes, "The kids have latched on to the term. We won't be able to stop them."  
"Unfortunately," said Father Gottfreid.

"He is not!"  
"Is *too*!"  
"Is *NOT*!"  
"Is *TOO*!"  
"*Mama*... Tell Katja to quit lying!"  
Astrid sighed. "What *now*, little loves?"  
Anja pointed a finger at her elder sister. "Katja says Kurti's turning into a chicken 'cause of the pox, and if we catch it, we'll be chickens too and you'll eat us up for dinner."  
Good Lord, that urban myth generated spontaneously. "Katja," she warned.  
"It's true! It's true! He's growin' feathers already!"  
"Kurti's *not* growing feathers," she insisted. "Listen to me. Both of you. Kurti has the Chicken*pox*. It does *not* mean that he's turning into a chicken."  
Anja was a little red-faced and teary-eyed. "But Papa was *basting* him..."  
Oh dear. "That was calamine lotion, darling. All the Chickenpox does is make you *itch*; and poor Kurti has a worse time of it because of his fur."  
"They *aren't* pinfeathers?" said Katja.  
"No, love. Just little clumps of fur sticking up."  
Katja heaved an immense sigh of relief and began rubbing at her body. "Very good... I was *so* scared to scratch... *Oooowww*..."  
It was going to be a long, *long* day. "Come on, now, into the bathroom. Time for a spot check. You too, Erika. Show me your spots."  
Erika lifted up her dress. "I'm a leopard, Mama! Rrraaawwrrr!"  
"Are you an *itchy* leopard?"  
"*JA*!"  
Astrid sighed again, and lead the trio of girls into the bathroom, where Kurti was getting coated in pink liquid.  
"Hallo?" Johannes said on their arrival. "What have we here?"  
"Two chickens and a leopard," said Astrid. "All in need of some calamine for their itches."  
"Look on the bright side," said Johannes. "At least we're getting it all over with at once."  
"Good enough for me," said Astrid, siezing the bottle and a cotton ball. "If I see another spot I swear I'll scream."  
"Lookit," said Erika. "Kurti has 'em on his tail."  
"That's nice, dear," said Astrid.  
"You didn't scream, Mama," said Anja.  
"I didn't look."

Kurti just couldn't get comfortable. There were only a few places on his entire body that didn't have welts, and none of those were really good to rest on.  
He and his sisters all wore mittens, to prevent them from scratching and getting nasty scars. Papa had one on his back. Even after decades, it looked vicious.  
And, to add to his personal agony, Mama and Papa had said that if *he* scratched, he'd get bald spots where the scar tissue was.  
Everyone was miserable, though Kurti was prone to include only Erika with himself as the most miserable people in the house. She was still coughing and sniffling and hot.  
Poor little Erika. As the youngest, she wasn't as immune as the others to all the diseases that had assaulted her. She had the most miserable times of miserable times, and wasn't afraid to express it.  
"Itches," she complained. "Hot."  
"I know," Kurti soothed. Mama and Papa were run off their feet looking after the four of them, even *with* Father Gottfreid helping and the occasional neighbourly casserole. "Tell you what," he said. "I found out something. If you hold off from scratching, it doesn't itch so bad after a while. I'll hold your hands and you hold mine and we can stop each other. Sound good?"  
Erika nodded, and held out her hands.  
Kurti made sure he had a good grip. "It's going to be all right," he promised. "You'll get over this, I swear."  
"Itches," she whispered, tears falling down her face. "It itches *bad*."  
She was really *covered* in spots and dots.  
"You just squeeze me," he offered. "Squeeze my hands for how bad it itches. Just be gentle, eh? I don't want to be crushed."  
Erika giggled and squeezed his hands. After a little while, she eased off.  
"There," he said. "That wasn't so bad," and had to grimace while a set of itches crawled through his fur.

"What're they *doing*?" said Anja.  
"They're stopping each other from scratching," said Katja. "Either that or they're having a funny face contest."  
Erika was starting to look relieved. She even sighed. "The itches are going *away*," she said.  
Anja instantly picked a spot on the floor. "If it works for them, it's gonna work for us," she declared. "C'mere and hold my hands."

"D'yurgh," said Johannes. He quickly put the cup down.  
Father Gottfreid laughed. "That's why you don't drink it unless you're sick. My mother *swore* by this tea."  
"Sure she didn't swear *at* it?" said Astrid, who had just tried a sip of her own. "The kids won't drink *this*. Can't we add sugar or honey?"  
"You *can*, but it won't help. It'll just taste awful anyway." He smiled as he took up the tray and headed for the lounge room, where the kids had, once again, made camp in front of the television. There, he found the most peculiar scene.  
The children had paired up and were holding each other's hands, and staring fiercely into the other's eyes. Then, after an unspecified time, they'd sigh and giggle with relief, only to start again a few minutes later.  
Johannes and Astrid were staring with him.  
"I take it this isn't some Romani ritual," he said.  
"It's news to *us*," said Johannes.  
One of the girls - Katja - spoke in Romani to her mother, then Astrid replied with a phrase Gottfreid was becoming rapidly familliar with. "[*Guests* are present, Katja.]"  
Katja blushed. "We're helping each other not to scratch," she said. "If we do it long enough, we won't itch any more."  
"That's what Kurti said," added Anja.  
"Well," said Gottfreid. "I have a tea that happens to help with illnesses. It breaks fevers, and gives you something else to think about for an hour or so."  
They mobbed him, took one sip of the tea, and made faces.  
"Eeeeuuurrrrgggghhh..."  
"Drink it all down," said Astrid. "It's good for you."  
"It has to be," said Johannes. "It tastes *just* like medicine."  
Their dutiful children whimpered, whined, and complained, but they also sipped and scowled.  
Kurti drank his down in one go and shuddered so badly that all his fur stood on end. "Ooog," he said. "Ach! It certainly works."  
The other children stared at him.  
"I'm not doin' *that*," said Katja.  
"Me neither," said Anja.  
"Me neither, too," said Erika.  
Kurti belched. "Pardon," he murmured, and belched again. "Oh, *pardon*..." A third burp was cut off by both hands and some rapid swallowing, then Kurti raced from the room.  
He was noisily sick.  
"That's *never* happened before," Gottfreid declared. "Not *once*."  
The girls were looking suspiciously at their tea. Gottfreid didn't blame them.  
"Keep drinking *slowly*," Astrid advised them. "I'll look after Kurti."

She found him leaning against the bathtub, looking slightly pale and a lot wrung out. Every now and again, he'd burp and look completely horrified about it.  
"I've never *been* so sick," he quavered. "I think I just threw up yesterday's breakfast..."  
Astrid fetched a glass of water and gave him a sip to rinse out his mouth, and another sip to try and settle his stomach. "There, now. It'll be all right, dear."  
Kurti lunged forward and coughed up the water and some bile. "I'm sorry, Mama."  
She put the glass down and hugged him. "You can't help it, love. It's part of who you are. Some medicine just hits you in a funny way. You've got to learn to be careful, is all."  
"I promise I'll be careful," he said. "I promise I'll be good. I'll try my best, I will; I *will*..." Kurti sniffed and rubbed his eyes. "I just want it to go away."  
All she could do was run her hand through his hair and rock him gently, like she used to when he was smaller. "There, now," she cooed. "There, now. Just try to relax."  
He did, though she could see his stomach clench, periodically. It settled down to a quasi-regular spasm, eventually, and Kurti agreed to try a little lunch.  
What worried Astrid was that he said he wasn't hungry. Kurti's fever had broken sometime during the morning, so he *should* be hungry. And considering he'd just emptied his stomach, he *should* be ravenous. But he wasn't.  
She gave him a little bowl of chicken broth and bade him eat slowly. It didn't stay down. Apparently, Father Gottfreid's family panacea had locked her poor boy's stomach into a cycle of rejection.  
Gottfreid practically threw himself at her feet, appologising for the error and all but falling to hysterical weeping. He then launched himself at the telephone to cajole his mother for half an hour for an antidote to the medicinal tea. Judging by his red face and apologetic demeanor, there wasn't one.  
Johannes dipped a teaspoon into the honey jar, and dribbled off most of it before he gave it to Kurti. "Just suck on it, eh? Try not to swallow too often."  
"Johannes?"  
He smiled. "Honey can be absorbed by the tongue," he said. "It's ideal for feeding very sick people, because even if *some* comes up, they still get a benefit."  
Learn something new every day... Astrid washed the old spoon as Johannes readied the next, and prepared to field an onset of sibling jealousy by getting out another three teaspoons.  
Katja, Anja and Erika just watched, faces clear with worry, as Kurti sucked on teaspoons and looked miserable.  
Father Gottfreid put a blanket over Kurti's shoulders and rubbed the boy's back. "I'm truly sorry, lad."  
"I know," said Kurti. "I thought it was medicine for me, too."  
After four teaspoons, Johannes started leaving a little more honey on the spoons, and watching Kurti like a hawk. When his usual colour returned, Astrid tried him on the broth again, which he ate with increasing speed.  
By the time sunset rolled around, he'd 'stocked up' and crawled into bed for a well-earned rest.  
It was a relief to watch him peacefully slumber.  
"I'm lucky I've already gone grey," she said. "Today would have sent me there."  
Johannes hugged her. "Yeah. But it'll get better."


	19. In the Wars (Puffy Fluffy)

::Chapter:_:Nineteen: In the Wars (Puffy Fluffy)

{Tuddlup tuddlup tuddlup tuddlup...}  
Johannes opened the door and looked down the road. There was only one reason in Heirelgart for a galloping horse - bad news.  
It was Elfreide Guismann. "Has Kurti come home?" she called.  
"No. Why?"  
"Little Jorgi's come down with the mumps," Elfreide announced. "I think Kurti was playing with him a few days ago."  
"Ach!" Johannes turned and dived back into the house. "Astrid! Is Kurti home?"  
"No, I think he went for a walk, why?"  
"Little Jorgi's come down with the mumps."  
"God save us, let him be the only one..." Astrid crossed herself.

Kurti gambolled along the roadside, happy just to be out in the open. After being confined for so long, he was *aching* to just get out and *move*. He laughed as he leaped and twirled, cavorting on the packed- dirt road.  
"That's far enough, lad," someone shouted.  
Kurti stopped and looked. "Hallo, Mrs Guismann!"  
"You stay right where you are," she said. "Don't you *dare* try to enter this house." She blocked the door with her body and cocked a hoof.  
Kurti felt a chill cover his entire body. "What?" he squeaked.  
Mama popped out of a front window. "Go to your Opa's, Kurti. Go. Now."  
"Mama?"  
"*GO*! Mrs Guismann will explain. Just go."  
Tears streaked down his fur. "Why?"  
"Do as I say, Kurti. *NOW*!"  
Mama had spoken. Kurti turned and began walking slowly away. What was going *on*? One little sleepover and suddenly Mama and Papa didn't want him any more. Was it his fault? What did he *do*? He almost didn't hear Mrs Guismann walking beside him.  
"Little Jorgi's come down with the mumps," said Mrs Guismann. "You have a chance of coming down with it, too."  
"But we've all had our needles," said Kurti, small-voiced.  
"True, but your sisters are a lot younger than you, and Erika, especially, can't really afford to catch the mumps. She's only *had* one needle, and her immune system's had a lot to fight, lately."  
"So I'm going away, so that Erika doesn't get hurt?"  
"Yes, lad."  
"Oh." Relief flooded him. "Can you run ahead and tell Oma to have a drink ready? I'm really thirsty."  
"Sure you won't be lonely?"  
"I'll be okay," he said.  
It turned out to be a lie. By the time he reached Opa's, he had a sore throat and a shockingly bad head. He also felt a little feverish, and needed to take his coat off despite the autumn chill.  
"Ach!" Mrs Guismann looked guilty. "Don't *you* catch things fast? Oh, I'm so sorry, my boy. I thought I had time for tea."  
Oma picked him up and nested him onto the couch with a lot of pillows and a knitted blanket. "Wrap yourself up or you'll have a chill," she said. "Taking off your jacket when it's nearly winter. Tch! What got into your head?"  
"I was hot," he croaked, and coughed. He took a sip of hot chocolate, and winced as his throat stabbed him.  
"Here, Kurti," said Opa, "I'm just going to feel your face."  
Opa's always-gentle hands *hurt*. Kurti couldn't help flinching.  
"Well," said Opa, "After this, you've got it all out of the way, at least."  
"I feel hot," said Kurti.  
"I'm afraid you're still cold. Weather the blanket - it's only a little while - and drink your chocolate up. Then we'll work on making you more comfortable."  
"Did you have mumps?" Kurti asked.  
"Oh, I had a terrible time," said Opa. "I got *so* hot, I had to sleep on a metal bench, because I'd burn everything up."  
Kurti giggled. "That's not right," he said. "No-one could do *that*..."  
"Oh? And why not?"  
"You'd burst into flames first," reasoned Kurti. "There'd be nothing left but ashes."  
Opa rubbed his left arm, where the numbers were. "True, lad. True." He was silent for a moment, then got back to the serious business of telling tall tales. "But I was *just* hot enough to burn things and not hot enough burn *myself*, you know. It was very advantageous for my family. They didn't need so much firewood. Just pop the kettle on Kurti, and then it'd start to boil away like magic."  
Kurti laughed so much he started to cough.  
"Ach... now look at you. You forgot to drink. You'll cough if you don't drink."  
Kurti moaned a little. "It hurts," he admitted, but drank anyway. "I guess it doesn't hurt as much as coughing."  
"Ah, that's one of the advantages of mumps, my dear boy. All the ice cream and jelly you can eat. Of course, by the time *I* got it, it had turned to soup, so I wasn't a very happy boy."  
Kurti laughed again. Opa could be so silly, sometimes.  
"Are you telling our Kurti lies, again?" said Oma, bringing over a big bowl of broth.  
"No, Oma," said Kurti. "He's just being silly."  
"It's all true," said Opa in mock tones of wounded dignity. "Why, if I wasn't such an honest man, I wouldn't have married your Oma. And *then* where would you be?"  
"With the Guismanns?"  
Opa rolled his eyes. "Boy's got an answer for everything..."  
Oma laughed. "That one *never* works on the adopted children, love. Face it, he has you beat." She lifted his knitted cap and kissed his bald head. "Now tell it true, ne?"  
Opa sighed, pouting like a child. "I lorded it over the whole family," he admitted. "I think they dubbed me malingering champion of Kasseldorf."  
Kurti finished off his chocolate and let the blanket fall from his shoulders as he reached for the broth.  
Mrs Guismann touched his brow and felt his neck. "Ah, you're warm enough now. To think I nearly let you catch a chill. You'll be all right, now, for the most part. Except you're a puffy fluffy boy."  
"I'm not fluffy, I'm fuzzy," he said.  
"Not with your winter coat on, you're not," said Mrs Guismann. "You're a puffy fluffy." She kissed him on the forehead. "We're all lucky Centaurs can't catch or carry the mumps. I'll tell your family how you're fairing."  
Kurti moaned. "And I thought I was over everything."  
"Once you're over this, you'll be over *everything*," said Opa. "You'll only ever have to worry about the 'flu."  
Kurti finished the broth, and found another hot chocolate waiting for him. Then, on a perverse need to prove Mrs Guismann wrong, journeyed to the nearest mirror to inspect himself.  
His winter coat *was* on, and he looked - well - *fluffy*. And to add insult to injury, the mumps had made him swollen about the face and neck, leaving him looking plump.  
He pouted, and fancied he looked like a fuzzy - or fluffy - Marlon Brando. "I'm gonna make you an offer, see," he rasped, then coughed and sipped his drink. Okay. No more impersonations while on the mumps.  
Opa laughed. "Very accurate," he said. "Except for the fur. And I don't think Brando had pointy ears, either."  
"*Opa*..."  
The old man produced two towels. "One warm and one cold," he said, waving the relevant ones. "They can help with the pain, a little. Whichever one you like, you let us know."  
Kurti tried one on either side, and quickly gave the cold towel back. "I think I prefer the warm," he said, and padded slowly back to the couch and his little nest of pillows.  
"Warm, it is," said Opa. "And we can't give you asprin for the pain, it could make you sicker. You just make yourself comfortable and rest assured that *all* of your sisters are going *grrreeeeen* with envy 'cause you're playing with Oma and Opa and they can't."  
Opa was the *best* for putting a good light on things.


	20. Home Again, Home Again

::Chapter:_:Twenty: Home Again, Home Again

Kurti leaped out into the snow. At last! At *last*! He was finally over absolutely *everything*. He never had to worry about chicken pox or measles or mumps or *anything*.  
Personally, he never wanted to be sick for the rest of his life, but right now, it was a joy to have his freedom.  
"Kurti! You forgot your mittens!" Oma yelled.  
"I've got in-built ones, remember?" He called over his shoulder. "And you *said* I could go home, now. I got school work to catch up on."  
Oma muttered something about him still being sick.  
Kurti just laughed. It was a joy to be free. He bounded across the snow for the feeling of it, and turned a few somersaults just to have the wind in his hair. Ah, bliss.  
Katja, Anja and Erika were running to meet him. Or, more accurately, floundering through snow that came to Erika's waist. None of them could imitate his effortless, snow-crossing stride, so he bounced over to them and landed in a tangle of hugs and we-missed-yous.  
Kurti purred loud and long, even before Mama and Papa joined the melee.  
It was *good* to be home where he belonged.


	21. Them

::Chapter:_:Twenty-One: Them

"...no... *No*... Don't go to the mountains. *NO*!" Stefan startled awake. "Brother!"  
Erlich Stannisch hit him with a pillow. "Dream *quietly*, for God's sake," he chided. "Some of us are trying to *sleep*."  
"Shut your mouth!" Stefan returned the pillow and made to break curfew. "My brother's life is in danger."  
"Sister Holy Terror's gonna cut your *bits* off for *this*," whispered Erlich.  
"It doesn't matter," Stefan said. "This is *important*. It's life and death."  
Just as Erlich predicted - sort of - Sister Holy Terror was awake and waiting for him. "Just what are you doing out of your dorm room, young man?"  
"It's my brother," said Stefan. "They're gonna put him in a cage. I've *got* to warn him! I've *got* to!"  
"Had one of our famous visions, have we?" The nun patted her palm with her equally famous ruler. The one capable of travelling at speeds faster than light. "Did your vision tell you what you were in for if you broke curfew?"  
"No, Sister Holy Innocents," Stefan droned. "But it doesn't really matter. Kurti's in *trouble*. I've *got* to warn him."  
This surprised the Holy Terror no end. "Well, if it's *that* serious, we'd better do something, na?"

Father Abbott blinked and rubbed his eyes as he listened to the 'phone. He looked very incongruous in his nightshirt. "Just clicking. Lots of clicking. Ah. Hello? To whom am I speaking? Yes, I'm trying to get through to Heirelgart. Any working 'phone in Heirelgart will do. Yes, I'll wait." He drowsed while Stefan fidgeted. "Mmm? Yes. I'm still here. Oh. Well, that explains it. Thank you, no, I don't think we'd want to send a messanger. The passes would have closed, too. Thank you for your time." He sighed and hung up.  
"Well?" said Stefan.  
"The 'phone lines to Heirelgart have broken with the cold, which means that the passes are also snowed under. Therefore, your vision of strangers putting your near-brother Kurti in a cage is nigh impossible."  
"But it's *going* to *happen*!" Stefan argued. "He's in *danger*!"  
"Well, there's nothing *we* can do about it," said Father Abbott. "Try and get some rest, eh? We can pray tomorrow."  
"Tomorrow'll be too late," Stefan mumbled.  
Still, there was more than one way to send a message. Careful not to let Sister Holy Terror see him, he began working an incantation. Sorcery and Catholic boys' schools didn't mix too well, but Stefan didn't care, right now. Kurti had to See, if only for a moment.

Stefan was standing on a mountain, trying to yell something to him. Something about not going... but the wind whipped the words away. Kurti tried to run towards him, but found bars. He turned. There were bars all around. He was in a cage. In the middle of Heirelgart. Father Heigl was talking to some men on skis, and one of the men hit the old priest.  
A frail old body fell. Blood spattered on snow.  
His fault. All his fault.  
"*NOOO*!" Kurti lurched out of bed, breathing hard. It was so *real*. He could still sort of hear Stefan trying to cry out to him.  
Bad men were coming and he had to hide. He *knew* it, as surely as he *knew* that his family loved him. Therefore, he had to go somewhere safe, and hide until the bad men had gone.  
There were caves in the mountains that could swallow armies. With a few supplies, he could make himself comfortable and wait out the nightmare.  
At least this time, he could tell his family.  
"Mama, Papa. Wake up. *Please*. I need your help."  
"...mmmnh?"  
"Wha'izzit? Nigh'mare?"  
"Sort of. A - a vision."  
*That* woke them up. "But Margali said you don't have the Sight," said Mama. "How can you have a vision?"  
"*Stefan* had the vision. He sort of passed it on. He was trying to warn me about something. A danger from outside. Coming *here*."  
"Love... The passes are snowed in," Papa yawned. "How can danger be coming to Heirelgart?"  
"It just *is*," said Kurti. "I have to get out of here."  
"Why?"  
"Because I saw Father Heigl die through the bars of a cage. And there's only one way *that* would happen."  
Mama shivered. "Yes. We'd have to die."  
Papa got up. "I'll help you pack."  
Kurti breathed a sigh of relief.

"...nuh... noo... *NO*!"  
"Like it or not, lad, it *is* morning," said Brother Harmony. "Up you get. Time to make your bed, get yourself washed and get your breakfast. *In* that order."  
Stefan shook. "He's going into th' mountains. He's going to th' mountains anyway. Why didn' he *listen*?"  
"*Boy*..." Brother Harmony warned. "You'll save your babbling until a more civilised hour."  
Stefan curled up and wept.

Kurti's progress up the nearest mountain could be easily traced by the bizarre prints in the snow, and the occasional cloud of condensation from his breath, swirling slowly in the still air.  
Nothing else interrupted the white vastness for miles. Even the cave mouths were getting hard to spot, but Kurti knew where to dig. And he knew where to dig in order to confuse a potential enemy.  
Thus, he started burrowing uphill and slightly to the west of the steaming, iced-over vent that marked the Heirelgart hot spring cave. Were anyone to discover the hole, or the furrow in the snow where he chose to collapse part of his tunnel, they would have shrugged it off as rabbits.

"Go in for a career of Cryptozoology, they said. Money for nothing, they said. Run a few websites, publish a few blurry photos, and sit on your ass and let the money roll in, they said."  
"John? Could you *please* shut the fuck up?"  
John ignored her. "And *then* they tell you that you have to go on *expeditions*. Once a fuckin' year. Sure, I thought. Paid *vacation*, I thought. Pick a beastie and go on a pleasant hiking trip somewhere in the vicinity and bullshit up some travellogue with about ten paragraph's worth of close calls. A doddle, I thought."  
"Shut the fuck up, John," Wendy whimpered.  
"They never told me I'd be hiking through twenty-foot-deep snow, looking for elves and centaurs and something called a 'wisp', for Christ's sake... IN THE MIDDLE OF BUMBLEFUCK *NOWHERE*, GERMANY!"  
"Pipe *down*!" Wendy yelled. "You could cause an avalanche."  
"Avalanches happen in *spring*, Wendy."  
"Cross-country skiing, they said," she muttered. "It's *healthy* for you, they said. Just go up there and take a few photographs. Easy money, they said. Rrrr!"  
John stopped. "Holy shit," he breathed.  
"*Now* what?"  
He pointed. "What the hell," he asked, "makes a track like that?"  
Wendy looked. "Holy *shit*..."  
There, in the snow, was possibly the strangest imprint they'd ever seen. The creature moved on four legs, bounding across the snow like a rabbit. But no rabbit weighed about eighty pounds and had an opposable thumb.  
Wendy dropped her pack and fumbled for her photographic gear.  
John found his tape recorder. "Halfway up the mountain, on our trek to the passes that we were told held elves, we've found the tracks of a mysterious mountain dweller. I can clearly see the imprint of each hand and foot. The hand is tridactyl, with an opposable thumb. The foot only has two toes. Each has a wide spread, meaning that the creature is adapted to travel in the snow. It moves in a bouncing motion, hopping like a rabbit. The opposable thumb gets me. Could this creature be intelligent? *Is* it what the locals refer to as an elf? This in incredible. This is unbe-fuckin'-lievable."  
Wendy snapped photos of the tracks, next to a ruler to indicate size.  
"This is," said John. "This is. *WOOOO*!"  
{...rrrrrruuummmmble...}  
"John," Wendy whispered. "*Shuddup*."  
But it was already too late. A wall of snow was heading straight for them.

Kurti was answering a call of nature when he heard the yawp of a stranger. They *had* to be a stranger, because nobody accustomed to the mountains made a noise in them when the passes were snowed in.  
Which meant that there were outsiders in the mountains.  
Outsiders on the wrong end of an avalanche.  
Hell.  
Kurti finished up, burying his leavings in the snow, and bounded out onto the white expanse to find the source of the noise. He prayed that the outsiders were still alive.

"...no, Kurti, no. No, Kurti, no. No. No..."  
"He's been like this for an hour," said Brother Ignatious. "I can't get through to him."  
Sister Mary Joseph looked into Stefan's eyes. "It's the Sight," she said. "He can't see us or hear us. He's elsewhere."  
"...no. No. *Please*, no. Don't do it. Don't help them. No, Kurti. No. They'll kill you..."

There were two of them, and even though it was a relatively small avalanche, they were in bad shape. Kurti cleaned the snow up around them, careful not to move any limbs.  
It was difficult to tell their gender, what with all the thick clothing they had on against the weather. The one with the camera had dislocated a leg. The one with the tape recorder had a broken arm. Kurti set the arm with the straightest branches he could find, and bound the whole thing to the stranger's body with some straps he'd found in one of their packs.  
He improvised a sled out of pine boughs and dragged the strangers towards his camp in the hot spring cave. It was going to snow before nightfall, so he didn't have to worry *too* hard about concealing his tracks. He hoped.

"Ooohhh... *Ow*." Wendy opened her eyes. "What the hell?" She looked around. Last time she'd checked, they were on a mountainside with a wall of white coming towards them like a freight train. How they got to be inside a cave that resembled something from Dante was beyond her. "John?"  
John groaned. Only his head was visible under a pile of dry pine branches.  
There was a fire. And a kettle of stew. A couple of rabbit hides were drying on racks nearby, and someone's whittling project lay on a blanket that, in turn, covered more pine branches.  
Of such domestic details, Yetis were *not* made.  
Still, *someone* had to have rescued them.  
Wendy found her camera nearby and snapped a few pictures, just in case. In case of *what*, exactly, she couldn't be certain. She just knew that whenever something bizarre happened, it was time to take out the camera.  
She got up, her left leg twinging, and poked around.  
There was a hot spring, further inside the cave, and a worn trackway leading to it; its steam lent the entire area a lovely warmth and a faintly eggy smell. A pit, covered with a carved wooden plaque, suggested that people camped here and had thought of all contingencies. Wendy photographed the plaque, too.  
She turned back towards the entrance, limping as she moved, to try and take stock.  
Okay. Someone had rescued them. And their things. And bought them here. Wherever 'here' was.  
And the only visible entrance to the cave was an iced-over gap some five feet off the ground. Wendy used her ski for a scale and photographed that, too.  
A brief chin-up showed that they'd been bought in through that very 'door'. The tracks of large pine boughs were still visible through the falling snow.  
And some *thing* was bounding towards the cavern. A small-human sized thing. Bouncing on top of the snow like a rabbit.  
Wendy dived back to her improvised pine-needle bed, shut her eyes, and desperately tried to slow her breathing. She could see the headlines, now. _Cryptozoologists captured by German Yeti!_ with the sub-headline, _Remains found on mountainside_.  
A heavy thump made her open one eye just enough to see what made the noise. It was a bundle - a big one - and the creature that dropped it was - _OmyGod..._ - crawling down the wall.  
It was all she could do to *not* reach for her camera.  
It was something she'd never seen before. When it stood on two feet, it stood on legs made like an animal, with the heel acting as a second knee. Yet it walked easily, as if *made* for bipedal motion.  
Wendy watched, fascinated, as the creature went about its - *his* - business.  
He only had three fingers, and two toes - if one discounted the digit slung off his heel like a spur/thumb. Yet with that arrangement, he was able to untie knots, tighten cord, and re-tie the knots that stretched the rabbit skins tight. He was able to sharpen a knife on a wet rock, then skin and butcher another three rabbits, adding their meat to the bubbling stew.  
He vanished into the back cave and returned with dry wood, cleaned free of bark. Those sticks, he lashed together into a crude frame, then he stretched each new skin onto a new frame, then shaved the insides free of meat and fat. Those shavings also went into the stew.  
Very little was wasted.  
He was calmly peeling vegetables when he said, "I know you're awake. You don't have to be afraid. If I wanted you dead, you'd still be in the avalanche, ja?"  
_Oh. My. God. It talks._  
"What are you?" Wendy managed. "What do you want?"  
John, closer to the fire, roused, took in the scene, and leaped into action. Well, it was sort of a lunge, but he covered the distance between himself and the creature and hit it with his taser.  
All his fur stood on end, and he yipped in shock before he fell. A half-peeled turnip bounced into the flames.  
John's other arm was set in an improvised cast and sling. "Tie it up," he said. "I'll get the satcom."  
"I don't think it was gonna hurt us, John," Wendy murmured.  
"Are you nuts? Who *cares*? This little critter's gonna justify the entire field of cryptozoology. I gotta call all the other teams."  
"He spoke to me, John."  
"Eh, maybe we can fix that. It doesn't matter. You just make sure it's secure. I'll call the others, okay?" He staggered towards their packs, humming _We're in the Money_ as he went.  
Wendy limped over to the fallen creature and pulled him away from the fire before any embers could catch in his fur. If it wasn't for the overall demonic effect, he could have easily been mistaken for a kid of five, maybe six. "I'm sorry," she whispered, grabbing the ball of cord the creature had used to tie rabbit skins, and beginning to bind his wrists. "I think it might be better for you if you just went with the flow for a little while. I'll do what I can."  
"Alpha team, can you hear me?" John said into the satcom. "Echo? Bravo? Caleph? Respond, please; this is Delta. We've got a discovery. One *hell* of a discovery."  
Some wiseass said, "You *did* look up the field guide on bear prints didn't you?" loud enough for Wendy to hear.  
"This is better than prints, Dave. We just caught ourselves a real live fuckin' demon."  
Wendy bound the demon's ankles, hog tying him. She swore blind he was weeping. _Maybe it's crocodile tears,_ she thought. _Maybe it's real. There's no way to know for sure, now._ Wendy also had to wonder why a demon was wearing handmade clothes, when there was no sign of fabric or a sewing machine anywhere in the cave.  
It was almost as if - someone *cared* for the creature.  
"Yeah, we're about... two miles north of someplace called Heirelgart, according to the maps. H-E-I-R-E-L-G-A-R-T. God knows how *they* pronounce it. Maybe they've got a 'phone. Or a bear cage. Either way, haul ass up here PDQ. I got a broken arm and my photographer's walking with a limp. Naw, our local guide got scared halfway up and gave us his map and you-can't-miss-it directions. The asshole. Just hurry, awright? We got provisions for a few days, but I don't wanna push that. Cool. See you in a few."

Kurti had gone limp with shock, watching a nightmare come true. They came in twos and threes, and once, in a group of four. All Americans and one superstitious guide from a tiny village near Hundesplatz. The guide kept as far as he physically could from Kurti, so Kurti had no reason to fear him.  
"Oh mah Gawd... *WOO*! That is one wierd-ass critter you done caught," said one of Them. The man came right up to him, took off a glove, and felt Kurt's face. "Damn... It's almost a pity you caught him alive. He'd make one mighty fine blanket."  
"George, it's not about that, any more. Its about preservation of the species. What *we* gotta do is find a female, capture *that* alive and get ourselves a breeding pair."  
"So who made camp?" asked another of Them. "You two are pretty much busted up."  
"It was the creature," said Wendy. "He was living here."  
"Hey!" said a voice towards the back. "There's cave paintings here. Centaurs fighting people. An ox hunt. Hand prints... This place is a treasure trove."  
"You be careful back there! Ground could be unstable."  
Kurti *wished* it was. Let the ground swallow Them up and God take Them away.  
One of Them was setting up a cage with carrying poles, just like an upside-down sedan chair. He got the job because he was the smallest of Them, and he was still awkwardly wedged in its confines, making sure all the struts and braces were bolted into place.  
_Run,_ whispered part of his mind. _Run now, while they're still disorganised._  
_How? I'm all tied up._  
_What? You think God gave you that tail for *decoration*?_  
The tail. They'd forgotten about the tail. They didn't know it was a useful limb.  
Kurti curled it around to his bonds, finding the knot by feel and testing the cord for give. It eased a little there, losening a fraction. He wedged his tail-tip into the knot, loosening it further.  
Every time one of Them came close, he pretended he was doing something else, like lashing his tail around in agitation. But every instant he had out of their attention, he worked at the bonds.  
Almost...  
Almost free.  
"Hey! What in hell's it doin'?"  
Too late. Kurti leaped free of the cord and gallopped down the nearest side-tunnel, bolting through twists and turns in the caverns by feel and his famous night senses.  
"Jesus H, that critter's fast!"  
"Get the tranq gun and the flares!"  
"Mark the dang walls!"  
"After it, Goddamn it!  
Kurti ran until there wasn't anywhere left to run to, then he climbed until he couldn't climb any more. Then he prayed as hard as he could.  
And the spotlight still found him.  
Kurti clung to the stalectite and closed his eyes. _Take me, Jesus._  
{Pow!} There was a sting in his leg, and his whole body went numb.  
"I got 'im! I got 'im!"  
"He's goin' down!"  
"Catch 'im! Catch 'im! Catch 'im!"  
Everything went black.

"Um. Clive?"  
"Whut?"  
"I don't think this critter's breathin' right."  
Clive journeyed over to look at the critter. Not only was it hog-tied, it was held fast in the cage. Its breathing was shallow and slow. "Eeehhh..." he grunted. "Doesn't look too hot, does 'e, Bob?"  
"That's what I was sayin'," said Bob.  
Clive risked reaching into the cage. He lifted an eyelid, the checked the pulse. "Looks like 'e might make it. I'd prep a few CC's of uppers just in case he slips deeper. Meantime, he's out of it, and we got a kettle of stew."  
"Yeah. Who knew critters could cook?"  
"*Mmmm*-mmm! This is *good* stuff," said Joe. "Soul food."  
"Think we aught to save some for the cook?" said Wendy.  
"Psh! There's plenty for this army and the next one."  
Someone broke out their supply of six-packs and handed them around. "To the critter!" He toasted.  
"To the critter!" They chorused.  
"To scientific legitimacy!"  
"Yeah!"  
"To a cool billion each!"  
"Yee-haw!"

Kurti was in a dark place where he couldn't move. He could hear everything that was going on. Sense where They were and what They were doing. The only thing he couldn't do was act on that input. He couldn't tell them he was hungry. He couldn't tell them that the stew was supposed to last him a week.  
He could barely breathe, yet he couldn't draw in any more air even if his life depended on it.  
_God, save me from a glass box. Save me from a cage. Save me from being an exhibit._  
Slowly, very slowly, he began to get feeling back in his body, and found out the hard way that They had taken Their revenge for the chase he'd lead. He could move, just a little, to make himself marginally more comfortable, but that was it.  
When he was finally able to wake up, someone had left him a bowl full of the scrapings from the pot. How they expected him to eat when he was tied -- wait. They'd forgotten the tail again.  
But someone was watching. One of Them.  
Kurti wrapped his tail around the rope, again, hiding its spaded tip amongst the coils and knot-picking by feel alone, because his eyes were busy watching the man who was watching him.  
"I thought that tail was prehensile," he murmured, jotting down notes. Sketching. "I think you're intelligent. Especially intelligent enough to not let on that you're intelligent, hm?"  
Kurti remained silent.  
"Hm." More notes. "You had quite a camp, here. Rabbit hides in varying stages of being tanned - with the fur on. Quite difficult. Whittling projects to stave off boredom. Stew. That kettle had to come from somewhere, and I'd wager you're too young to make it yourself. And those vegetables were domesticated, not wild."  
"Would you let me go?" Kurti whispered.  
The man stopped sketching. "Now there's the rub. There's only Wendy and I, so far. True scientists amongst the plethora of the great unwashed. They're only in it for the money. Accidents can happen to the best of people..."  
"Oh." Kurti closed his eyes and sighed. The rope was a little looser, now.  
"You *did* do a good job of popping Wendy's leg back into place. And splinting John's arm. But I think the latter of the pair are less than grateful." More sketches and notes. "How *did* you get loose, last time? We've been exchanging theories, but none of them fits."  
Kurt shook his head. "If I told you, you'd tell Them." He worked one wrist free, and the rest of his arms and legs followed. Circus training made him bother to untangle and coil the rope properly.  
"Amazing. Amazing," furious notes. "Times like this I'm glad I learned shorthand... You're the most incredible creature I've ever seen. Amazing."  
Kurti had the sinking sensation that this one of Them wouldn't be much help either. He inspected the stew. Tepid, but it'd keep body and soul together. "Can I have a spoon, please?"  
"Hm?"  
"Can I have a spoon, please?"  
The pencil stopped and an eyebrow raised. "You - said 'please'."  
"Yes?" Kurti didn't get it. Mama and Papa had drilled 'please' and 'thankyou' into him from birth.  
The man handed him a spoon, covertly, through the gaps in the cage. "Someone had to have taught you that. You can't have learned everything from watching civilisation."  
Kurti shut his mouth. If he could do one thing, it would be to keep Heirelgart out of the picture. Calmly, as if he hadn't heard the man's speculations, he cleaned the spoon with his shirttail and started eating.  
"Amazing," whispered the man, and started sketching again.

The Centaurs spotted the outsiders a mile off, and did the rest of their watching from covert places. Outsiders were bad news to mythic-folk, and the normal humans kept the secret well.  
Heirelgart stayed indoors and watched the outsiders through their curtains. Then they ran for their guns.  
The outsiders had Kurti in a cage!

Each of his bearers had a taser, and even though it was set on 'low', it still hurt. They had a long list of infractions, and talking was at the top. So he just lay still at the bottom of his cage and prayed for a way out.  
He prayed They would leave Heirelgart alone.  
"Excuse me, gentlemen," said a slightly cracked voice.  
_No!_ Kurti leaped against the closest set of bars. "[Father! Run!]" Kurti yelled in Romani. "[Please run! They'll hurt you!]"  
He got zapped for his efforts.  
Father Heigl stayed where he was. "I believe you gentlemen have someone who doesn't belong to you."  
His phraseology went right over Their heads. "We caught it fair and square," said one of Them. "Now you can either show us a 'phone, or bug off."  
"You have unfairly imprisoned one of God's children," said Father Heigl. "I'll do neither."  
{Whap!} Father Heigl fell down. Red blood stained white snow.  
Kurti screamed.  
There was a chorus of shotguns being cocked. Kurti even recognised the familliar noise of Papa's blunderbus being cocked.  
"Holy *shit*..." muttered another one of Them.  
"You made two mistakes, stranger," said Werner Guismann. "You hit a priest, and you caged our Kurti."  
"Let him go," said Papa. "Or you'll get a non-lethal round where you'll wish you'd never had it." He was aiming at a man's private parts.  
Elfriede Guismann stepped over to Father Heigl and helped him up. He was bleeding from his nose.  
Wendy wrestled the keys from another man, and fumbled them into the lock. "It's all right, kid. I don't think these assholes are gonna try anything now."  
Kurti ran straight to his Mama. They were both crying.  
"That *thing* is her *kid*?" said John.  
"Clappe, Aussenseiter," warned Papa. "Mind who's got the guns. And mind your mouth."  
"Real, live Centaurs," whispered Wendy. "I'd heard stories... I never thought I'd actually *see*..." Then she earned the Centaurs' collective respect when she said, "Oh, you're *beautiful*."

Kurti didn't see any of Them after that. He didn't ask what happened. In fact, he didn't talk at all. He spent a majority of his time holding gently but firmly to a family member. It didn't matter which one. Family was safety. Family was safe. If he was gently disentangled and left alone, he'd seek out someone to cling to, and ususally hold them so tight that their circulation was threatened.  
Astrid was half glad that it was winter, since his new habit of invading their bed would result in heat stroke in the warmer nights of the year. Kurti was a dear boy, but he was a living furnace, sometimes too hot to stand being near for long.  
Her poor little boy. At six, she recalled, the biggest adventure she'd been in was going to the other side of Bomysneir to see what was there. She'd returned unharmed and as bored as she'd set out, only to find that her parents had had the unique excitement of having their child turn up missing.  
She'd received a slap on her hand for scaring them, and a lecture about the dangers of the child-stealing Gadje for the rest of the night. All the young Astrid got out of the entire thing was a fraction of a little more worldly and a few nightmares for a couple of days.  
She'd *never* been scared silent.  
Astrid turned to her son, watching him sleep in the moonlight, and gently kissed the special spot on his brow that Margali had blessed all those years ago. He wouldn't let her do it while he was awake, any more. He was too grown up.  
Astrid settled back down and prayed for Kurti's wellbeing. The lasting hurt would go, eventually, but what hidden scars were left inside his head, where she couldn't tend them?  
All she could do was hold him close, and love him dearly; and she was already doing that.  
_Let it be enough, Lord,_ she prayed. _Let it work._


	22. Talking Again

::Chapter:_:Twenty-Two:Talking Again

It was heading towards springtime, and Kurti was still silent. Apart from that one small fact, he was back to normal. He would smile and laugh when something was funny, cry if he was upset, and show all other emotions like a healthy child, but he still wouldn't speak.  
They'd taken him to Father Heigl on numerous occasions, to see if he would open up in the confessional, but to no avail. He'd just decided to be mute, and that was that. His sisters had made plagues of themselves for a fortnight, trying to trick, torture, or tease him into speech, but nothing worked. If anything, it made Kurti even more resolute in his silence.  
Eventually, they accepted it, and adapted. Kurti could read and write, so they gave him a slate and a piece of chalk and he seemed happy enough with that. He preferred to carry them, rather than hanging them about his neck. Astrid let him, and loved him, and dearly prayed that the Lord would heal him in time.  
It was all she could do.  
Her mind wasn't on her work, nor the impending work of summer, and for the fifth time in an hour, she toppled from the low line. All three girls stopped chatting to stare. Johannes stepped down and helped her up.  
"Are you feeling all right, liebchen?" he asked.  
Astrid shook her head. "I'm sick with worry over Kurti. Why won't he *talk* to us? What did they *do* to him up there? How could they? How *dare* they? He's our *son*! He's my baby boy..." she dissolved into tears. Months of worry came out right in front of the kids.  
Johannes held her tight and gently rocked with her. Only his silence indicated that he was trying not to succumb to the same emotions. Tears wetting her temple told her he was not winning the battle.  
"Don't cry?"  
Astrid gasped. Two little words. Just two words. In a voice she thought she'd never hear again. She dashed tears from her eyes and looked at Kurti. He'd stepped down from the rig and was standing beside them, looking up at them as if his world was coming apart.  
"Kurti?" she whispered.  
"You're *strong*," he said. "You're always strong. You can't cry, it's not right."  
"Oh, Kurti," she breathed, kneeling down and catching him in a hug. "It's all right. It's going to be all right."  
"No," said Kurti. "It's not. 'Cause now I gotta *tell* you 'bout what They did."  
"Loves?" Johanne's voice was shaky. "Girls? Go over to Opa's and help Oma make some cookies, will you? Kurti needs some alone time with us."  
Silent, now, the three girls nodded and trooped away.  
When they were well down the road, they carried Kurti inside, brewed hot chocolate, and sat down together on the Cuddle Couch. Kurti talked about Them. They all cried together.  
It took hours, but the hurt was coming out, at last.  
Whatever the Centaurs did to those Gadje, Astrid decided, it wasn't enough. They deserved worse and if she ever laid eyes on any of them, she'd *give* it to them. With interest.  
*Nobody* hurt her little boy.


	23. Summer

::Chapter:_:Twenty-Three: Summer

"Brother!"  
"Brother!"  
"Brother!"  
Kurti let his feet dangle as Andrei swept him up into a bear hug. "Ha! You're still a cheeseweight! And I thought the whole village would be stuffing you like a chicken the entire winter."  
"You know me," said Kurti, "I have the longest legs to fill. And those barrel feet of yours. Did they get any bigger?"  
"You *know* they did," said Stefan. "He had to be re-shod *three* times, this year. An' he's workin' on a fourth!"  
"I'm a growing boy," defended Andrei.  
"Ja! Worth four times an ordinary one," chorused the other two. They laughed together and all was right with the world.  
"So? Been practicing your juggling, butterfingers?" asked Kurti. "I know I've been doing all my rig-work."  
"Pf!" Andrei pretended to sulk. "The boys at St. Ulric's have no *idea* how to land on a Centaur's hands... They just think they can ball themselves up and I do all the work. No idea. No idea at all."  
"You'd better be good at doing four, Erika wants to join the fun."  
"What? She's only two! Do all you Wagners want to start young or what?"  
"She's *nearly* three," said Kurti. "I started when I was three."  
"I remember," Andrei shuddered.  
"Liar! Nobody can remember being three."  
"Stefan, my brother, you don't *forget* something like watching your brother climb a guy-wire like it's nothing, then turn somersaults on the high line for a lark."  
Stefan gasped and froze, staring in fear at nothing. Then, in a moment, he blinked and shook himself.  
"What was it?" said Kurti. "What did you see?"  
"The same thing I always see," he said. "Death. Watching me."  
Andrei shied a little away, tail firmly down. "That's just spooky," he said.  
"You should talk to your Mama about this," said Kurti. "She'll know what to do. She might even make it go away."  
Stefan sighed. "I'm starting to think that might be a relief."  
"Ach! Who cares about being serious?" said Kurti, switching gears. "It's Summer! We're on the road!"  
"Ha! Yes! I can throw knives at my sister and get away with it," laughed Stefan.  
"I can gallop indoors," said Andrei.  
"I can *fly*," crowed Kurti.  
They were the Impossible Brothers. Together, nothing could stop them.

The townsfolk of Heirelgart swarmed over their little village like ants. The end of spring was a frenetic time of packing, unpacking, re-packing, practicing, warming up, more packing, and elephants.  
The Heirelgart circus had two of the enormous beasts, but when autumn rolled around, they slowly went down the mountain for other work. Kurti was always fascinated by the ponderous beasts, even though their mahouts wouldn't let him nearer than looking-distance.  
But nothing was impossible for the Impossible Brothers. They were born within months of each other, and thicker than thieves. And Kurti had come up with a *plan*.  
It was simple, really. Stefan would take one mahout away on a mission to the other end of the village, then, a little while later, Andrei would get the other mahout to help Margali with something heavy, thus leaving the young Centaur on guard.  
Which wasn't much of a guard, since Kurti, last of the Impossible Brothers, knew the password.  
"All clear?"  
"Yup," said Andrei. "Go on in and meet 'em."  
Heirelgart's elephants didn't often like people. Especially people who approached from the wrong angle. And they had a thing against two-legger children that meant they had to be penned up well away from the campsite when they weren't working.  
Kurti approached from the right angle. "[Hallo, loves,]" he murmured, echoing the words of the louder of the mahouts. "[Want a carrot?]"  
"What'd you just *say*?" said Andrei.  
"I dunno," Kurti confessed. "One of the mahouts always says it, then he gets some carrots from the barrel an' feeds 'em."  
"Huh," said Andrei.  
Kurti followed the ritual, holding the carrots on outstretched palms.  
The Aunty of the duo reached for hers, then paused. Her trunk touched his wrist, and air huffed around, ruffling his fur. She made a low rumble that was felt more in Kurti's chest than heard by his ears, and felt out the rest of him from top to toe.  
Kurti only winced when she was feeling his face. Elephant breath *smelled*.  
His tail proved a fascination, since it instantly reacted to someone touching it by wanting to curl around the toucher. Both trunk and tail intertwined for a moment, making Kurti giggle.  
Then, in a magic moment he'd remember forever, she took the carrot. Her daughter, following her lead, took hers.  
"Are we friends, now?" Kurti whispered. "Can I touch you?" Tentative, he reached forward and touched the Aunty's trunk.  
"*KURTI*!"  
_Aw, hell..._ He turned. Yup. Mama. "I was only makin' friends, Mama."  
Mama made to dash forward and snatch him up, but the Aunty stepped forward and gently pushed him between her legs.  
"See?" said Kurti. "She knows I'm no trouble."  
"Oh God..." Mama whimpered. She'd gone all pale and clung to the nearest post.  
"I *told* you he didn't smell like a two-legger," supplied Andrei. "It's the fur."  
"...oh God..." whimpered Mama.  
Then one of the mahouts came back, Stefan's ear firmly in his hand. "[Hallo, lo--] oh *shit*." He took in the scene and went all pale, too. "[Aunty... back, back. Back, back.]"  
The Aunty went backwards.  
"[Stand, now. Stand, now.] Boy. Come on out."  
"I wasn't any trouble," said Kurti, emerging from underneath the elephant. "I was making friends."  
"...oh God..." whimpered Mama.  
The Aunty caressed him as he went.  
"Jesus, God," whispered the mahout. "She *likes* you?"  
"That's what I've been trying to *tell* you," said Kurti. "I'm *good* with animals. What with my fur, I nearly smell like one."  
Mama fainted.

Astrid Wagner woke to the smell of Margali's herbs, and the soft sounds of her little boy crying. Kurti was, by nature, a very quiet lad when he was upset, and Astrid had a trained ear for those little sniffles and gasps.  
"Kurti?"  
"Mama!" In an instant, he was wrapped around her. "I'm so sorry, I never meant to hurt you, I was just trying to make friends, honest. I didn't know it'd hurt you. I didn't wanna... Please be all right?"  
Fully awake, now, she held her boy close and felt him over for any injuries. "Jesus, God... I thought that beast was going to kill you," she sobbed into his shoulder and nearly crushed him herself.  
"He was more scared of you fainting than that damned elephant," said Margali. "He's only ever been *this* upset when you were birthing."  
"He was worried about *me*?" Astrid blurted. "God in heaven, boy! You nearly gave me a heart attack. What were you *thinking*?"  
Kurti snuffled and wiped his eyes. "...just wanted to make friends," he murmured.  
_God love him,_ Astrid thought, _'cause I wanna strangle him..._ "Love. Dearest. Don't make friends with dangerous animals?"  
"But I made friends with that wolf," said Kurti. "You didn't mind that."  
Astrid's eye twitched, just a little. The wolf pup was now a full-grown animal and half-tame. She only tolerated the creature because it would've broken her dear boy's little heart to have it shot. "That was just a pup, darling. These are full-grown elephants, dear. They could stomp you flat in a heartbeat."  
"Oh," said Kurti.  
Astrid Wagner could *feel* her new grey hairs spontaneously generating.


	24. Pennance

::Chapter:_:Twenty-Four: Pennance

"[Hallo, Aunty,]" said Kurti in the special language of the mahouts.  
Aunty rumbled at him and caressed him with her trunk.  
Kurti patted her. "Can't stay at the front," he said. "I'm working in the back."  
Another rumble, but Aunty let him go.  
Kurti went around, picking up a shovel and the bin. Andrei was already there, working on his own bin.  
"Morning, brother," said the Centaur.  
"Morning," answered Kurti. There was little, if anything, good about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where I hit a wall. I could not, for the life of me, figure out where to take this story next. I wanted some Adventures of the Impossible Brothers, but could not conjure any good ones.
> 
> Thus, this story stays in fanfic purgatory. Nowhere to go and no good ending.


End file.
